


Spoonful of Sugar

by ArtemisBrown, Biliouskaiju



Series: Spoonful of Sugar [1]
Category: Disney - All Media Types, Mary Poppins (1964), Mary Poppins - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, New Years Eve, immortal Mary Poppins, proposal, teen!Bert, wee!Bert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:52:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4709969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisBrown/pseuds/ArtemisBrown, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biliouskaiju/pseuds/Biliouskaiju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every story has a beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1887 - April

**Author's Note:**

> This series was written very affectionately between the two of us to build some backstory for a group RP on Tumblr (Disney Roleplay.) (Our account names are a-cheery-disposition, and supercalifragalistiguy, for those interested.) It was never intended to have a true ending, as the rest of the development was supposed to happen in roleplay, but we've been asked to post them here.
> 
> We hope you enjoy.

It was Tuesday, April 19th, and it was raining. This wasn’t about to stop Mary Poppins from taking full advantage of her day off, however. She walked down the street, heading for Madison’s Baked Goods (her favorite) to purchase one of her favorite scones, which she planned on nibbling later on, with her afternoon tea. She let out a disapproving puff of air, at all the people who were huddled in door frames. It clearly looked like rain, and really, they should have come out prepared for the worst.

Before she even saw him, a small boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten years old bumped hard into her. Without even an apology, he ran off. Now, Mary had been around for admittedly a very long time, and she was not a fool. Before moving another inch, she checked her bag, and found her coin purse was missing. She pursed her lips, ducked into an alley, and flew up above the rooftops with the help of her umbrella. After only a moment, she spotted him below. She descended quickly at first, but then touched down with utmost grace.

The boy was still huffing and puffing as he riffled through the purse, beaming excitedly as he surveyed his take. She looked well-to-do, had that look about her with those nice clothes and fancy umbrella, he had been watching her for some time before making his move, and now he’d see if his suspicions were correct- he failed to notice he wasn’t alone in the alley, unfortunately.

Mary took a good look at the boy. He was more scruffy and skinny than she’d noticed before. Another orphan, she supposed. She cleared her throat. “Pardon me, young man, I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

The boy gave a yelp, coins and purse nearly flying from his hands as he jumped and whirled around but by the time he faced the source of the voice, the purse had vanished somewhere in his massive dirty jacket, “Aint know noffin’ ma’am!!” He squeaked, trying his most innocent expression as he backed up a few step, clearly calculating an escape route.

Mary smirked a little at his thick accent, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She was growing impatient. “I think you certainly do. Now give it here.” She snapped her fingers and held her hand out. The purse flew out of the boys jacket, and settled into her palm, and she replaced it in her bag. “Now what would lead a lad like you to participate in petty theft, may I ask?”

The boy boggled at her, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, “‘Ow’d you do that??”

Mary blinked, while he gaped at her. “Close your mouth, you are not a codfish.”

Immediately he regained his composure, but wobbled as though debating between running for it and stepping toward the odd woman, “I weren’t dippin’ ma’am, no, ma’am! Musta’ fallen out, ma’am I found it on the street- no Ganoph, ma’am!” He bobbed a bit, wiping his nose on his sleeve, still wide-eyed as he finally stopped his nervous babble, “Could y’show me ‘ow y’did tha’?”

She wrinkled her nose when he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Show him how to do what she did? Please. Mary withdrew a hankerchief from her bag. “I’m certain I have no idea what you are talking about.” She held the hanky to his nose. “Blow, please.”

Out of instinct, he flinched back, brows furrowed up at her as though still debating if she was real or not. He refused to blow.

She frowned, dissecting his reaction. She supposed it was no surprise he was wary of strange adults. As an orphan, particularly one on the streets, if her assumptions were correct, he had probably had more than a few run-ins with less than savory folk. She looked at her handkerchief for a moment. It was only a simple white one. No big loss. She smiled this time, and crouched lower, so they were level, eye to eye. “You may take it, if you’d like. Sleeves are for wrists, not noses. If you need to wipe, use this instead.” After a moment of consideration, she asked. “May I ask your name, young man?”

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes before accepting the gift with a snatch. “Herbert Alfred, ma’am.“ He blushed. "Mates call me Bert but I aint goin’ back to the spike, ma’am and if’n you try an make me I’ll just run!”

Mary smiled warmly. “I will not force you to do anything, Bert. You are not my charge, therefore not my responsibility. However,” Mary stood up. “The weather is less than favorable, and I’m not about to let you catch your death. Is there anywhere you would like me to walk you? I have more than enough umbrella to keep the both of us dry.”

Bert hesitated, eyes glued to her critically. On one hand, he wasn’t about to bring her home with him. On the other, she was certainly unlike any woman he had been acquainted with. She hadn’t shouted or thrown anything at him thus far, anyway. “You doin’ errands, ma’am? Could carry your bags for a duce!” He bounced on his heals, “If’n you do tha’ trick again, I’ll do it gratis, though!”

Mary raised an eyebrow and considered for a moment. She then grinned, and held her bag out for him to carry. “Yes, Bert, I think that will do just fine. You may come with me, if you’d like.” Mary walked back toward the bakery, now more excited for that scone than before. In fact, she considered eating it while she was out, rather than waiting.

* * *

 

The other customers eyed Bert disapprovingly, and Mary sent them each her most unamused face she had. In turn, they all looked away. Finally, they had reached the front of the line. The cashier smiled as soon as he saw her.

“Mary Poppins, what a pleasure indeed. Who’s the lad?”

Mary lay a gloved hand on Bert’s shoulder. “This is Bert, Tom. He’s being kind enough to carry my bag for me today.”

Bert had been sidetracked staring at the rows of delicious smelling baked goods and hot tea, but upon realizing he was being addressed, he juggled the hefty bag under one small arm swimming in it’s over-sized, filthy jacket to tip the cap that swallowed his ears, “Evenin’, Tom!” Pleasantries had, his attentions returned to the biscuits.

Mary smiled at his greeting. At least he had some manners, though they could stand some polishing. Tom leaned over the counter to get a better look. “Wonderful to make your acquaintance, lad. So, Miss Poppins, what’ll it be?”

"Two chocolate scones, please.” As Tom got her order, she looked to Bert. “Bert, may I have my coin purse please?” Once she’d gotten it, she paid Tom, thanked him, and headed back outside, Bert in tow. She walked down the street to the park, and through the iron gates. It was empty today, for reasons that were fairly obvious, but that didn’t deter her. Mary made her way into a gazebo, with some benches inside. She sat down, withdrew a scone, and offered it to Bert. “Would you like a scone?”

Again, the look of disbelief, but the boy didn’t ask questions, snatching the pastry like a hungry raccoon, and only after the third bite did he remember a quick, “Thanks, ma’am!” through a mouthful. He started coughing about halfway through, practically inhaling the delicious thing.

“Oh dear.” She took her carpet bag, reached in, and pulled out a teapot and a cup. She filled it about halfway and offered it to him. “Drink up, Bert. No need to cough up everything you’ve eaten."

He managed to stop his coughing for a few moments as he gaped anew at the appearance of the teapot.

Once he'd taken the cup from her, she added, "And it’s ‘thank you’, Bert. A courtesy should earn at least two words. But you’re very welcome all the same.”

When he remembered to breath again, the coughing returned, but he talked through the hoarseness, “Are… are you magic, Ma’am?” He half wheezed, half whispered in awe.

By the time he was able to talk, Mary had already put the teapot away. “Don’t be silly.”

“Cause you know Fairy Godmothers is only for princesses and gels and such,” he added pointedly.

Mary stared at him for a long moment. She had helped many strange children during her life, and none had ever given her such a pangs. Children in his position were usually far beyond their years. They didn’t have anything left in them that believed in fairy tales. But this one did. He was an urchin, but there was still something in him, that led him to wonder, quite earnestly, if she was a fairy godmother. She smiled warmly, as he finished his tea, and took the cup back, replacing it in her bag. She rest her hand on his back. “Let’s get you home, Bert.”

“Not that I aint grateful, ma’am! Never had a chocolate scone before!” He looked disappointed it seemed the nice lady had to leave. “Ain't raining that hard, ma’am. I can… I can make me own ways back alrigh’!” Besides, if she called the coppers on him for where he was currently squatting, there’d be loads of trouble. Magic or not, he was fairly sure she wouldn’t approve. Then again, Fairy Godmothers with tea kettles in their carpet bags could also maybe have a clean warm blanket in there… “It’s a bit of a hike from here, ma’am.”

Mary smiled her practically perfect smile at the boy. If he didn’t want her to see where he lived, then she would respect his privacy. However, she wasn’t about to let him catch cold. She removed two bottles from her bag, one big, and full of an interesting liquid, and one very small. She poured some of the liquid (which turned out to be blue) into the small bottle, and corked it. “Very well. However, if you insist on getting wet in the rain, I will send you home with this. Drink it once you’re somewhere warm. I won’t have you falling ill.” She stood up, and opened her umbrella, preparing to go. “Oh my, I’d nearly forgotten…” Mary reached into her coin purse, and withdrew a pound note, offering it to him promptly. “Thank you for carrying my bag today. Good afternoon, Bert.” She turned away again, and started back to the Miller home. She could still make it for tea, if she hurried.

Bert stared in awe at the strange blue liquid and bank note, before watching her go, stunned. “Thank you,” He whispered, even though she probably couldn’t hear… but he meant it. He stuffed the gifts into his pockets, intent on following her to see where she lived- but by the time he reached the corner she had stepped smartly around… she was gone.


	2. 1887 - May

Living a large portion of ones life in a dangerous era, one learns to not only sleep lightly, but to hardly sleep at all. Though times had changed dramatically over the years, Mary Poppins had never quite kicked the habit. It was absolutely normal for her to finally settle in to sleep at midnight, and wake up early with the staff, getting a start on her day before anyone in the family awoke.

On that particular night, Mary found herself rocking in her chair and knitting, to help herself wind down. As always, it was doing the trick quite well. After nearly nodding off where she sat, she finished a row, and set it aside to be continued the next evening. Just as she had taken her shoes off and started to unbutton her blouse, there was a clack on the glass window.

She yawned, and buttoned up again, hearing another little ‘plonk’ as she worked. Upon sliding it open, she saw a familiar scrappy boy in the yard below. He looked a bit jumpy, so she wasted no time in donning her shoes and coat once more, quietly hurrying down to him through the darkened house.

As she closed the front door, as quietly as she could, she glanced at him before crossing the yard. “Bert, dear, is everything all right?”

“M-miss Poppins, ma'am!” The boy removed his cap quickly, twisting it anxiously between his hands, “I 'ope I din’ wake you, ma'am. I know it aint a good time and you bein’ at home an’ all and I probably shouldn’ be here and um. Um. I just…” He glanced over his shoulder before moving a bit closer into the light of the porch.

She listened patiently, a bit of concern in her eyes, before taking his hand and leading him to sit with her on the porch. “Don’t worry yourself. It was no intrusion in the slightest.” A comforting hand came to rest on his back. “Now what is it?”

He swallowed, but happily clung to her arm as she lead him to sit, his face pale and eyes kept on the ground, “I… I 'ad a bad dream, ma'am. A real bad one. An’ I’m all outta’ oil fer me lamp and it just made it worse and… and I didn’ know what to do. But you always know what to do, ma'am so… so… so I 'fought I’d just… um.”

As he spoke, Mary felt that familiar tugging on her heart. Children in difficult situations always gave her a much stronger urge to help, and this one in particular had quickly become a favorite. He was a good lad that didn’t deserve the situation he was in in the slightest. Every part of her wanted to just bring him inside and let him have her bed for the night, but he was skittish enough as it was, when it came to spending any time in nicer neighborhoods. It must have taken all of his courage to come here at all. As he trailed off, she found herself gently pulling him close into a hug, letting her fingers soothingly stroke his hair.

“There there, dear… I understand. Even when you know they aren’t real… some dreams have a way of sticking to you like tar… they can be quite difficult to shake, can’t they?”

He nodded, trying his best to keep the tears at bay. Life was always more managable when he was with Miss Poppins. Things made more sense, for one thing, and felt safe, complete. He might have only known her for a short time but she was the kindest, smartest person he knew. “There was… there was all these monsters, ma'am, crawlin’ down the chimneys. Black as coal but wif’ eyes like fire…” And they had growled and snarled in his Father’s voice, nasty things that made him feel even smaller and more terrified than if they had simply just been monsters.

The chimney sweeping must have been getting to him. It could be an intimidating job, for a boy his age. It could prove to be dangerous, and she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had already heard about some lives being lost. Mary scooped him up then, and set him in her lap. She rest her cheek on his head, holding him protectively, much like any mother would. Sometimes just physical contact set childrens’ minds at ease. “Take a deep breath.” She breathed with him for a moment. “You’re safe now. Nothing… no one is going to hurt you.”

He wasn’t sure what to think at first, and the motion itself had taken him by surprise. He sniffed a few times, but slowly, steadily, his breathing evened and he relaxed, gently stroking the soft material of her dressing gown, not quite sure what to make of being held thusly, but he liked it.

Mary rocked him gently back and forth, still holding him close. The motion almost made her tired again herself. With only enough volume to get the sound out, not wanting to disturb anyone, she began to sing:

_“[Sometimes we lie awake, so fearful](https://soundcloud.com/uberwekkness/berts-lullabye/s-Xl7D8)_   
_plagued with monsters in our minds._   
_Just hold on tight to things that bring cheer on instead,_   
_and you can have sweet dreams of all kinds._

_"Just think of stars, chocolate scones, birds in flight,_   
_afternoon tea with me…_   
_Think of picking berries, or flying a kite,_   
_and summer naps under a tree._

_"Don’t let go of happy thoughts._   
_Never let them part._   
_Remember them in times of sorrow_   
_Keep them close to your heart.”_

As she started to sing, at first the boy sat quietly, eyes drifting closed in the lulled sense of comfort, but after a few sweet, breathy lines, his head turned to watch her face in the moonlight. It was in that moment, he fell in love. He swallowed, attention returning to the soft collar of her dressing gown as she lay a kiss to his head, and his paled face flushed.

“Miss Poppins?” He murmured quietly, “May I stay 'ere t'night? I.. I can sleep out back in a shed, I promise I’ll be gone before anyone wakes…”

Mary pulled back to look him in the eye, her brows quirking a bit as she thought. “I don’t see why not, but…” she glanced to the door behind her. “Are you certain you don’t want to come inside? You may stay with me for the night, if you’d like.” If she couldn’t sneak him out early, (though she was quite sure she could,) she would have to face the master of the house, but she found herself to be quite unperturbed by the idea. He was a reasonable man, and Mary knew she could easily win any sort of debate that might arise with relative ease.

The little boy wanted nothing more than to follow, but he shook his head wide-eyed, “I’d get in real trouble, wouldn’t I?” It was a very nice house, and a far cry from his usual place of rest… no monsters would come in there, especially with Miss Mary on guard… but even so, “Wouldn’ want you in any trouble Miss!”

She pursed her lips and frowned. “Oh pish posh. I am quite capable of taking care of myself.” Mary set him down and stood then, brushing the dust from the back of her dress. “And you will be in no trouble at all. Not if I have any say in it, and Mary Poppins always has a say.” She offered her hand with a reassuring smile. “In any case, I’ll see to it that you rise before the family. You’ve nothing to fear.”

He sniffed, about to rub his nose on his sleeve, but thought better of it and used the white handkerchief tucked in his jacket instead and warily took her hand. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.  "Miss Poppins?“ He whispered, sticking close to her side as he could without tripping over her feet, "Thank you.”

Just as quietly as when she left, Mary opened the door and led him inside. She moved through the house with him at a determined, but steady pace, keeping him close by her side. They slowed as the passed the other bedrooms, but her gaze remained fixed on the strip of light emanating from her own door. Finally, they had made it, and she silently shut the door behind them. In a low whisper, she finally answered. “It’s no trouble, dear.”

Mary passed to the bed and turned down the covers for him. “Now come settle in. Would you like me to leave the lamp on?”

He followed as though they were trekking through forbidden territory, clinging to her nightgown like a wary stray cat, only hesitating as they passed by the children’s room. He only got a glimpse of the nursery beyond, noting the sleeping shapes for a moment with a pang of jealousy before she whisked him away.

The boy stayed quiet until the door was shut and the covers opened. He was filthy, and he knew it, but that didn’t seem to bother her in the least. He spent quite some time undoing his over-sized shoes, lips pursed as he tried to think of anything but the soot monsters. After a moment of debate, he nodded.

She smiled kindly, dimming the lamp without completely snuffing it. Once he’d gotten out of his shoes and coat, she took his hat and set it with his other things and helped him into bed. 

Mary pressed a kiss to his forehead, and muttered a “goodnight, darling.” With that, she returned to her rocking chair. She pulled a knit blanket off of the back, and sat down, draping it in her lap for a bit of warmth.

“Gnight, Miss Poppins,” He murmured softly. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to ask questions and explore her room, the house, everything, his mind abuzz with all sorts of things, but the bed was so comfortable- more comfortable than any he had ever lay in. Granted, his own bed was straw and a coal-coated blanket, it was like a fairy tale. His eyes drifted closed on their own, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep, comforted by the fact no monster would ever dare step foot in Miss Mary’s presence.

His dark, sooty face stuck out like a sore thumb in the room full of crisp, clean things. A part of her longed to just take him in, and give him everything that he needed, and deserved, but tomorrow, he would be back out in the big, mean world again. A boy like him didn’t deserve any of it, but she knew better than most that it was the hard things that shaped a person far more than the easy. So long as he had a source of kindness to go with it- a spoonful of sugar- Mary was certain he would make his way through life just fine. She smiled a bit, more to herself than anything, and settled in to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a standalone called Stray Cat Lullaby. It lines up with the timeline of the story, however, so we've decided to include it.
> 
> The song, for those who don't feel like listening, is to the tune of Something Good from The Sound of Music.


	3. 1887 - June

It was another Tuesday, and like every Tuesday since their fateful meeting, Bert hovered in the market, bouncing about from cart to cart while keeping his eyes firmly peeled for clever Miss Mary.  At first he might have stalked around for her a bit, but over time it had just become their afternoon. She had shown him all sorts of exciting things- they went to the zoo once, another time a ship yard, countless other adventures and like always, they had been punctuated by something strange happening that she claimed no involvement with whatsoever. But Bert knew better.

Mary headed to the market, like she did on all of her days off lately. Today was different though. She had packed everything away into her carpet bag, said her goodbyes to the Millers, and now there was one thing left to do, though just the idea pained her. She hardly had to look around at all, before spotting the young boy she had grown so fond of.  
  
“Good afternoon, Bert.” She smiled perhaps a bit more warmly today, than she usually did. “Would you like to take a stroll with me today?” Mary offered him her hand.

“Miss Mary, ma'am!” Bert hopped up from the bench he had stationed himself on, beaming up at her as he happily took it. It looked as though he had made at least some effort to tidy himself up for their weekly outing this time, although there was still a smudge of dirt on his nose he seemed to ignore. His clothes had gained a constant smell of soot and ash, but that just meant he was keeping up with his recent employment. “You’re lookin’ lovely as ever t'day! I brought you somfin’!”

Mary walked along through the park with Bert in tow. He had made large improvements in the time she’d known him, even if it had only been a couple of months. He was working now, earning an honest living, and even presenting himself a bit better. Even his speech had improved.   
  
Her blue eyes sparkled a bit as he complimented her. Yes, his manners were much better. “Thank you Bert, you’re too kind.” She stopped when he mentioned having something for her. “Oh? Let’s have a look.”

He fumbled in his coat pocket for a moment before pulling out a slightly battered looking daisy, beaming proudly up at her. He was flushing slightly under his oversized cap.

Mary repressed the intense smile that threatened to spill out across her face. There was something about this child that tugged on her heartstrings more than any she had encountered in the past. “Thank you. I know just what to do with it.” Mary removed her hat, and tucked the daisy into the ribbon. It poked out the back somewhat awkwardly, but she liked it that way. She put her hat back on, and took his hand again. “Now come along. I want you to meet someone.”  
  
She led him through the park, until they came to the sidewalk on the opposite side. A man in a vest with a bushy mustache was there, hands and pants stained with bright colors, as he worked on lovely scenic drawings, on each large brick. There were market places, deserts, jungles, and all sorts of far away, fantastic lands. He tipped his cap to her, and she gave a small curtsy in return. “This is a sidewalk painter, Bert. He’s here the first Tuesday of each month, and he’s quite talented, don’t you think so?”

The boy surveyed the picture with a pointedly critical expression, “Aye, yeah, they are,” He finally conceded, but scratched the back of his head, “They’re good. But he can’t sell ‘em or noffin’ and someone’s gonna’ scuff 'em aint they?”

Mary patted his shoulder. “Sometimes, art goes beyond profit, Bert. Drawing can transport you to another place even moreso than just looking at something someone else has drawn. The artist knows what’s around the corner in that market. He knows what may be hiding in the trees in the jungle. It’s a wonderful way for one to express themselves, and use their imagination.”  
  
She considered the second thought for a moment. “Sometimes, a temporary nature can make something more valuable, don’t you agree?”

His brows furrowed as he cocked his head, staring deep into the intricate drawing at his feet. The gears in his head were clearly turning, and when he spoke again, it was carefully, “I suppose so… still seems like a waste for it to just get washed away…” He crouched down to get a closer look, as though memorizing every inch would make it less temporary in nature.

She looked on sadly, examining him much in the same way he was examining the chalk drawing. She didn’t want to forget this one. She reached into her carpet bag. “Bert, I have something for you as well.”

“Hmm? What, for me? You done a lot for me, Miss, aint no need for that-” He sprang up again excitedly all the same, leaning about to try to see what she offered this time.

Mary withdrew a tin of chalk, in a wide variety of colors. It was clearly brand new, never having been used before. “I would like very much for you to try your hand at this sort of thing. Perhaps one day, you’ll understand what I meant.”

Bert gaped as he had the time with the teapot, the later time with the spare boat oar, a handful of others, but this time it was less at the appearance of something impossible and now just something… unfathomably kind. “What… all of it?” As it passed into his hands, he popped off the lid, looking at all the colors in disbelief. For a kid struggling to feed himself, toys were generally out of the question.    
  
He looked up to the man with the mustache still drawing nearby, pursing his lips for a moment before stepping a few large bricks away from the man’s work, but close enough to still see them for reference, and picked a color at random to give it a go on the ground.

Mary smiled at the scene. The boy showed so much promise. She was certain he would be alright. She just hated to do this last part. “And Bert, one more thing?”

“'Old on, 'old on, I’m almost done!” A few more quick lines, his tongue caught between his lips in concentration, and he grinned up at her, “Look, see? It’s us! We’re ridin’ horses, real fast ones, see?” They were rudimentary, simple, a bit wobbly, but there was a small stick figure with a half circle about it’s head almost like his large cap, and a triangle for a skirt on the larger figure atop circles with a myriad of legs and potato-like heads with pointed ears.

She smiled more genuinely than she had in a long while, and clasped her hands in front of her. “Bert, it’s impeccable. It looks just like us.” She crouched down beside him, and looked him in the eye. “Bert, I will be leaving town for a while. While I’m gone, I would like very much for you to work on your drawing.” She nodded toward the mustached man. “John will help you, if you have questions. He’s very kind.”

Bert’s smile faded immediately, his brows furrowing, “Leaving town? 'Ow long?”

Mary pursed her lips. “I’m not certain. But I promise I will come back.”

He nearly broke the chalk stick, but carefully set it back in it’s tin as he rose to his feet, leaving an orange smear on his jacket as he wiped his hand, “You in trouble, Miss Poppins? Cause… Cause I know this guy he could sort it easy peasy!”

She chuckled at this. “No, dear, I’m in no trouble. It’s simply time for me to move on.” A gust of wind blew by, ruffling her skirts. She looked up at the sky, and the trees. “Yes, I think East will do quite well.”

“But… but you can’t go yet!” panic welled up in him as he set the tin down to grab her hand.

For the shortest moment, her composure broke, and she looked honestly sad. She held his hand. “There are many children that need my help, Bert. You mustn’t be selfish.”

He jerked his hand back at that, expression souring a bit as he set his jaw. He knew she was a Nanny, that there were other children she tended to… but in his heart, he didn’t think about it.  That was just some other place she went when she wasn’t with him. Perhaps it was selfish, but she had been the best thing to happen to him since- he couldn’t remember. Maybe when he dad was still around and something good had happened that didn’t involve a punch to the nose.   
  
He couldn’t remember his mother, save for distant fragments of memories. Miss Mary had been the closest thing he had experienced, and he had cherished it.    
  
“Can I come with you? I can… I can carry your bag and be your assistant!” His eager smile returned hopefully.

Mary hated to think like this, but a boy in his position… it was more important for him to learn to manage on his own. Perhaps she had babied him too much. She eyed him for a moment, before finally, firmly saying, “I have to go alone.” Mary stood up, resisting the urge to hug him and apologize profusely, like every foolish, sentimental part of her was screaming at her to do. “It’s time. I will come back, in time.” She had slipped up earlier, promising she would come back, but somehow, she knew it was one she could keep. “I promise.” She reiterated.

“Oh,” He said, frowning at his shoes and the tin sitting next to them.

She smiled sadly. “Take care, Bert.” She leaned down, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Without another word, for fear of not being able to part with him, she turned and walked away, opening her umbrella. As she drew near to the street, she raised off the ground, and was carried East. It took all her willpower to not turn and look back at him. He would be fine. She was sure of it.

As she left, the boy hesitated for only a moment before glancing up to see her walking- by the time he was running toward her, the wind picked up, snatching his hat from his head and lifting her umbrella and he stood amongst the chalk drawings as he watched her fly up into the clouds and out of sight.  
  
And just as abruptly as she had entered his life, the woman was gone.  But she’d see him again, she said. She promised, more or less.   
  
One thing was for certain, though, while he was still not convinced she was a fairy god mother, she was most certainly _not_ something _normal._    
  
When it was clear she really wasn’t going to dip down again, he slowly made his way back to where he had left his tin, hugging it to his chest for several moments as he let the past few months digest through him.  “Mister!” He finally snapped to the mustached man still tending to his art nearby, “Mister, could you show me how you do that?” He’d show her, alright.


	4. 1895

It was 1895. Industry was booming (more now than ever before,) there was a war on (but not on British soil,) and Mary Poppins was back in London. During the past eight years, she had come and gone in many towns, all throughout Europe, aiding countless families. As it always managed to do, when she least expected it, the wind carried her back over the familiar London skyline, eventually guiding her to the Smiths: a well-to-do, somewhat uptight family. 

The children were initially monstrous, having gone with little to no parental guidance for altogether too long. Mary had sorted them out with relative ease, and was now working her subtle magic on Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

But for the moment at hand, Mary simply sat to tea with Mrs. Smith, enjoying the sound of birds chirping outside.

Mrs. Smith jumped a little at a thud on the roof. “Oh my, what was that, do you think?”

Mary sipped her tea. “Not to worry, Mrs. Smith. I’d imagine it was just some chimney sweeps. They can be quite lively, you see.”

There was a sudden shout carried down the floo, followed by a frantic sort of scuffling accompanied by a lot of very ungentlemanly profanities  before suddenly, the ladies’ tea was interrupted by a gush of soot smoke and a slim figure tumbling to the drop cloth thankfully covering the rug.

Mrs. Smith nearly spat out her tea, when she heard the sort of language coming out of the young man’s mouth, and yet Mary Poppins seemed altogether unsurprised, and unfazed. The lady of the house, however, shot out of her chair. “I beg your pardon, sir, but what is the meaning of this?”

Mary remained seated, continuing to enjoy her tea. “Now, Mrs. Smith. With a lad of that size tumbling down all at once, your chimney is likely to be nearly finished already. Besides that, I’m certain it was an accident, possibly involving others in his profession. As I said, they can be quite lively.” She set her cup on the saucer, and placed it on the table. 

Just watching her calm demeanor, Mrs. Smith relaxed, returning to her chair. “At least there was a drop cloth, I suppose.”

Mary stood now, offering a hand to the sweep. “Are you hurt?”

“Noffin’ bruised but me pride, ma’am!” The black coated young man took her hand, head still reeling from the fall as he managed to get to his feet again. His mouth opened for possibly an excuse, explanation or maybe even an apology, but the moment his eyes met hers, he flinched backward with a sudden ,“B-bollocks! It’s YOU!”

Mary furrowed her brows for a moment, as she looked at him. Her expression changed from one of confusion, to recognition, and finally, to fondness. She smiled. “Hello, Bert.”

Mrs. Smith was ignored as he scrambled for the now filthy and worn white handkerchief from his pocket to rid his face of as much soot as he could. He had grown considerably since they had last met, his once too large suit now several inches too short, his cap properly fitting his head. “Blimey, you look just like I remember…”

She looked him up and down. He almost looked like he’d grown overnight. He was wearing nearly the same clothes that he did all those years ago. He even still had her handkerchief. “And you’ve grown.”

“Miss Poppins.” Mrs. Smith cut in, “do you know this lad?”

Without looking away from him, she answered. “Yes, Mrs. Smith, I knew him when he was a boy. He’s a fine young man. You should be pleased to have him sweeping your chimney.” It was funny. He had to have been twice the height he was before, but the lopsided grin was just the same. “Bert, would you like to meet me tomorrow? It’s my day off, as I think you know.”

“What? Yes! Yes o’course! The park? ” he offered, barely containing his excitement.  Suddenly he remembered the lady of the house’s existence, tipping his cap, “i gotta get back to it! And owe Freddy a good punch for that shove.  Be back later for the tarps and pay, ma’am!”

Mary simply nodded in response, and gave a little wave, as she watched him clamber back up the chimney. She was so pleased to see that he was still working for his wages. The longer she had been gone, the more she had worried that he would return to less than honest means of making money, and yet there he was, still sweeping chimneys.

She returned to her seat, finished her tea, and returned to her duties with the children.

* * *

 

The following day, she waited patiently on the park bench they had met at so many times before. Granted, that was all nearly a decade ago, but she had the feeling he would remember. She brought along a smaller purse than usual, her umbrella, and she made certain to wear her favorite hat, his daisy still poking out the top.

Bert, meanwhile, had been delayed, much to his dismay, by Bridget Johnson, the fair haired young lady who sold flowers out of her basket in the afternoon. “Not now, Bridge! I’m meetin someone!”

“Can’t I go too?”

“No, you can’t come too, just scram!”

“You’re awfully dressed up, Berty.”

“Wait-” he spotted her basket, pulling out a few pence to slap into her hand as he snatched some flowers, “perfect! You made me late, I really gotta go!”

As Mary waited, a man pulling a cart passed in front of her. She stood. “Sir?” The man stopped, and turned, lighting up when he saw her. She tended to have that effect on people.

“Yes ma’am. Wantin’ a meat pie, are yeh?”

“Certainly.” She withdrew some coin, and offered it to him. “Two please. And would you be so kind as to tell me the time?”

The man handed over two piping hot pies to her. They smelled wonderful. Lamb, if she guessed correctly. He then withdrew a banged up pocket watch, and glanced at it. “Fifteen past two, ma’am. Have a good ‘un.” He tipped his cap and continued on.

Bert was running a bit late, but she understood. They hadn’t exactly made iron clad plans.

By the time he was in eyesight and earshot, he was still trying to shoo away the young woman wobbling after him, “What are the flowers for, Berty?” There was panic in her voice as she clutched her basket to her chest to lift her skirt a few inches so she could keep up with him. 

He turned sharply, keeping his voice down, although it still carried, “I’m meeting  _Mary_ , alright?”

The girl’s nose wrinkled incredulously. “What, that imaginary friend of yours? C’mon, you left your things all out-“

“Then you better go watch ‘em for me!" 

Bridget’s lips pursed as she watched him sideways, a calculating expression on her face. “You know, not many girls mind that you’re mad.”

He snorted, waving her off before trying to straighten himself up as she finally withdrew. A deep breath, and he smoothed out one of his few soot-free waistcoats, checked his sleeves of his Sunday Shirt, and lit up as he spotted her on the bench.

At the sound of a somewhat curt conversation, Mary turned, catching sight of Bert. He seemed to be quite annoyed with a very pretty girl, who to her mind, quite clearly liked him. Eventually they parted, and Bert caught sight of her. It was then that she noticed the flowers. She wasn’t certain if he was trying to top his previous gift, or if it was something a bit more… complicated.

As he drew nearer, she patted the seat beside her on the bench. “So tell me,” she began, “who was that lovely young lady?”

"That’s just Bridge Johnson, she likes t’bother me when I’m workin’ in the square there,” He didn’t miss a beat, offering the flowers down to her with a tip of his cap, “I KNEW you’d be back! Took your time about it, didn’t you.” He was almost too excited to sit, but did so after a minute, “It really IS you! Well o’course it is, ‘course it is!”

Mary smiled and took the flowers graciously. A few peonies this time. She would have to find a vase for them when she went home. “Bert, you shouldn’t have.” She was inclined to think he really, really shouldn’t have. In all her years, she’d never had someone latch on so hard, as he had. It made parting ways that much harder. Worse yet, she knew it would make aging that much harder on him, once he caught on to just what her life was like.

But now was not the time to discuss that. “I keep the promises I make. Sometimes it just takes a while.” She picked up the bag with the pies in it. Still warm, from the feel of the bottom. “I hope you’re hungry. I got us something to eat.

“Oh, good!” he beamed, “C’mon, we can have a picnic! I wanna’ show you somefing!” He hopped up, offering his hand as though no time had passed at all. She was back, she really was back- he hadn’t imagined her. He COULDN’T have imagined her.

He was so… bouncy. She supposed that was normal for his age. Mary didn’t spend much time around teenagers, so she tended for forget. She took his hand, and walked alongside him. “What is it?”

He had to slow his pace to something a bit saner, humming with excitement under his breath, “I did them this mornin’… Gosh I still can’t believe… well, ‘course I can believe, but me mates, they always thought I was daft about it but I mean, you’re here now! As… as lovely and perfect as ever!”

She was a little amused, but also a bit saddened by his rambling. Usually when children would grow older, they would talk themselves out of believing some of the things they had seen with her. Usually that was for the best. 

Mary nearly blushed at his comment. Nearly. “Oh Bert…” she trailed off bashfully. Changing the subject, she asked “Did ‘them’ this morning? Have you kept up on your drawing?”

“I ‘ave!” He grinned, the same hopeful glint in his eyes as he lead her by the hand to where Bridget was waiting with an unimpressed expression as they approached. Down on the ground by her feet were a series of chalk paintings, and a rusted, battered tin that looked suspiciously like the one she had given him.

Mary offered Bridget a smile, and received a bit of a scowl back. Perhaps she wasn’t as lovely as Mary had initially thought. Bert led her to a few squares, taken up by brilliantly colored drawings. She leaned forward a bit, to get a better look at them. Before her were a detailed image of a tiger attacking a deer, some sort of contraption flying toward the moon, and a scene, deep in the ocean with bare-chested mermaids. “Oh my…” she uttered.

“Bert, they look very nice, but…” now… what was the nicest way she could put this? “Have you considered appealing to a wider audience?”

“I been listenin’ in at the bookshop when they read to the kids Sunday afternoons,” He said, nervousness eating away at him at her inspection. “I like drawin’ the adventures!" 

"So who’s this, then?” Bridget cleared her throat, forcing her mouth into a sweet smile.

“Oh, right. Bridge, this is Mary. Mary Poppins. A… a dear old friend-" 

Bridget’s expression flickered from humor to skepticism. “You can’t be the lady he’s always goin’ on about.”

Mary looked at her, strangely calm. “And why do you say that, young lady?”

"Sorry, Ma’am,” The young girl flushed slightly, “Well… he s-said it happened when he was just a kid! I’m sure he just… exaggerated.” She flashed him a look, clearly baffled but curious by the situation. 

Bert, though, shook his head, “It all ‘appened just as I said! I didn’t exaggerate noffin’!”

Mary smiled kindly. “Well, it was a long time ago now, and ones mind can play tricks on them.” She gave a little curtsy. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Bridget.” Mary turned to Bert now, touching his arm. “Now how about that picnic?”

She took his hand and led him back to the paintings, finally staring pointedly at the one of the moon. “Yes, that will do quite nicely.” With a strange sense of ease, she hopped forward. The two of them grew smaller, and landed in the painting with a puff of chalk dust.

Bridget gaped, eyes wide and mouth open as suddenly the boy she fancied and the unnervingly pretty older woman vanished before her eyes. She looked around frantically, dropping her basket and sending flowers everywhere, but there was no sign of them.

* * *

 

Inside the painting, however, Bert was screaming as suddenly they were strapped into cushioned velvet armchairs in the very ship he had so carefully drawn, the moon growing larger as they hurtled toward it at speeds he had never even begun to comprehend before they landed with what he suspected could only have been described as a ‘splort’. The ship skidded to a halt on the greasy surface, but he did not move, gripping the arms of his chair as tight as he could.

After a pause, Mary sung out “We’re here!” and unstrapped herself from her seat. “Come along, Bert. Spit-spot.”

The surface of the moon was soft, springy and white, and smelled almost sweet, in a way. Swiss cheese. Jarlsberg, to be precise. It would go nicely with their pies, she expected. With a glance back to she ship, she called out. “Don’t dawdle!”

His legs were jelly as he eased himself up and through the door, mouth still hanging open as he blinked out into the alien terrain, “It’s… it’s… we’re-! But you just-!” Before she could give him another disapproving look, he hurried to catch up with her. It was only then he noticed his clothing had changed- properly fitting trousers tucked into good sturdy exploring boots, a vest with pockets, and Mary’s as well, to better fit their new dining room, he supposed!

Once he’d caught up, she walked alongside him contentedly. Her skirts now brushed her mid calf, rather than the ground, and her boots were a bit more suitable for difficult terrain. Her hat had changed a bit, to match the tans of these new clothes, but the daisy remained. “You really did a wonderful job, Bert. Such detail.” Waiting for them, on the other side of a hill, was a checkered picnic blanket with a proper basket. “How convenient. You thought of everything, didn’t you?” Mary lowered herself to the blanket, careful not to wrinkle her skirt, and set down the bag of pies.

“We’re… we’re not really on the moon?” He managed dumbly, looking around in awe as he words slowly registered. They were in his drawing. The one he made. He could tell by the colors, small things, thoughts he had had while sketching, all there… although he had not considered a picnic basket and blanket, that was a happy addition. “I knew I weren’t mad!”

“Of course not. Now have a seat.” Mary opened the bag, and took out the meat pies. She handed one to Bert, once he’d made himself comfortable. “So how are you truly getting along these days? Are you getting enough to eat?”

“I uh… yes! For the most part. I mean it ‘aint steak on Tuesday but occasionally there’s potatoes,” He managed. He wasn’t sure how he should feel at that moment. It was as though the emotions, excitement, relief and glee had all welled up in side of him to the point of passing into a numb sort of proper go-with-the-flow.  “A lot’s happened since you been gone, ma’am.” He managed.

“I’m quite sure.” She answered, taking a bite of her pie. The crust was nice and flaky, and the filling? She was sure she had never had a better English meat pie (the German ones were the best.) She would have to keep an eye out for that vendor in the future. Mary looked at him. He seemed perhaps a bit stiff at the moment, but that was expected, given the circumstances. He hadn’t seen nor heard from her for over half of his life, much less done anything magical like this. She lowered her pie, and took hold of his hand reassuringly. “Bert I… I’m sorry that I couldn’t come back sooner. You must understand, my situation is quite complicated.”

“I’m sure I can’t begin to fathom, ma’am!” He smiled, at least, before remembering his own pie and taking a bite. Chewing enthusiastically, his eyes had moved from their adventurous surrounding to rest on  _her_. “But you’re… you’re ‘ere now, though. ‘Ow long?” His hand squeezed her’s, as though afraid she’d suddenly bolt, leaving him stranded here.

It was happening again. That pang she felt right in her core. She looked at the hand, wrapped around her own, and back up to the face who owned it. “I will be here until the wind changes. No more, no less.”

His expression turned serious as he quickly finished his pie, “Then we better make the most of it!” He managed through a full mouth.

Mary released his hand, to clap the crumbs from her fingers. She reached off the blanket, and tore off a piece of moon, giving it another brief sniff. After concluding it was what she thought it was, she offered it to Bert. “Cheese?” 

Upon opening the basket she also found some grapes, bread, and some jam. Even a thermos of tea, with a few cups. As she poured them each a drink, she asked. “So tell me, Bert, have any girls caught your eye? You’re getting to about that age.”

He flushed a bit at this sudden topic, rummaging through the basket to find the knife for the bread and, unsurprisingly, a cutting board and busied himself cutting a few slices for them, “Not, really… not like that. Only been one lady for me, Miss.”

Mary plucked a few grapes from the stem, eating them with some cheese. “Oh? Why don’t you tell me all about her.”

“Well,” He kept his eyes on the hunk of cheese she had handed him, carefully slicing it to set on the bread, “She’s… practically perfect in… in every way, really.” At that, his eyes lifted up to meet her face shyly. “Difficult to top perfect, innit?”

Mary took a bite of the bread and cheese, stomach feeling quite content. “Yes, I suppose it is.” She smiled encouragingly. “I’m certain that if you voice your affections, she’ll respond agreeably. Anyone can see what a good man you will be someday. I’m sure I do.

His eyes lit up, hands nervously fidgeting now that they were no longer occupied by simple tasks, “You… you think so?”

Mary took a sip of her tea. She’d seen the way Bridget had looked at him, and though she’d only seen them together for a short time, she had the feeling their connection to each other went a bit further than just talking on the days they were working from the same spot. “Absolutely.”

“And… and you… you’re… you’re still a MISS Poppins?” His voice cracked as he scooted a little bit closer on the blanket.

Mary stiffened, even feeling the color rise in her cheeks. She turned to look at him. He looked nervous, full of hope, perhaps a little ill, and it took her still another moment to process that it was her that made him look that way. Not Bridget. She blinked a few times, and finally set her cup down. “Now Bert…” Mary trailed off, biting her lip a little. There simply had to be a gentle way to let him down…

He withdrew, laughing nervously as he poked at the jam. He was thoroughly stuffed now, anyway, “You are aware we’re having a picnic on the  _moon_??”

She was immediately grateful for the subject change, and it showed in her face. “Oh, I’m quite aware.” She got to her feet, and motioned further into the lunar landscape. “Shall we go for a stroll?”

“Noffin’ would suit me better,” He beamed, hopping up to offer her his arm.

She politely gripped the crook of his arm, and began walking. “Have you thought about perhaps taking Bridget out for dinner some night? Her interest in you is quite clear.”

He felt like he was walking on clouds, drifting along beside her, smelling her perfume- they were almost the same height- he remembered her being miles tall, but now, here beside him, it was clear she was just a woman. And not nearly as old as he figured she would be by now.  No, she was just as beautiful as ever, and he was lost in her perfume. Just as perfect, just as lovely and no nonsense… just as undeniably magical… he blinked and tripped on a cheese crater at the question, “Who, Bridge??” He looked as though she had just suggested he swallow a bug.

Mary kept her composure, smiling softly. She had hoped he would be more receptive to the idea… “That’s right.” She confirmed, stopping to straighten out his vest, which had gone askew when he tripped. “She’s quite lovely, and worth a chance, at the very least. Besides, you never know if something will go well, until you try, isn’t that right?”

“I… I s’pose…” He bit his lip, but didn’t let up his grip on her arm. “Wait… did you hear that?” He stopped in his tracks, squinting at the various cheesy rocks and cliffs. He couldn’t help shaking the feeling they were being watched.

* * *

 

It was dark by the time they exited the painting. Mary patted some chalk dust from her skirt, before turning Bert around to pat some off of his back. “Honestly, Bert, why would you think up such creatures?”

“Well, ‘ow do we know what’s up out there in the stars?? But I mean they were alrigh’ at the end, weren’t they? I mean aside from all them teeth they were pretty agreeable once we showed ‘em the bread trick.” He looked down to see his same dingy suit, splattered with bits of chalk.

Mary grinned a bit. “I suppose you’re right.” Turning, she spotted Bridget, still waiting for them at a bench. She had dozed off, and Bert’s tin of chalk was with her, likely to keep it safe. “That was awfully kind of her, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah she’s… she’s kinda’ like that, Bridge.” He was still riding the adrenalin of their adventure, but seeing the poor sleeping girl in the growing dark pulled him back to reality.  He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling.

Mary looked between them and smiled. “I suppose I should go. Next Tuesday, would you mind meeting me again? There’s someone I’d like you to meet. He could use some company.”

“Next Tuesday?” He brightened up, “I think I could squeeze you in, love! Who’m I meetin’?”

“Uncle Albert. He will probably ask you to call him that as well, I expect. I feel very much that the two of you will get along well.” Bert was nearing adulthood. Goodness knows he could use a good role model. “Next Tuesday then. Now would you be a dear and see that Bridget gets home safely?”

He snorted, “I suppose I can see what I can do for him.” He thrust his hands in his pockets, still just happily staring at her in the light of the street lamps. “It’s sure good to see you again.” He let his eyes drift to the men wobbling around to light the high torches along the path on their stilts, “Might be fun to be a lamp lighter,” He mused aloud.

Mary touched his shoulder. “Why don’t you give it a try one of these days? There’s nothing stopping you. I daresay that if your drawing is any sign, that you could do anything you set your mind to.”

He smiled wide, chest puffing out proudly before he took her hand, gently kissing her knuckles like a proper gentleman, “It’s been a wonderful evenin’, Miss Poppins.”

She smiled, and gave a small curtsy. “Truly unforgettable. Next Tuesday, then. I’ll wait for you here.” Mary turned away, beginning her trek back to the Smith house.

He watched her go, breath caught in his throat for quite some time until he remembered how to exhale. She was back. They had an appointment for next Tuesday. And she was back.  His eyes drifted back to the girl on the bench and he bit his lip.  By the time he approached her, his smile had returned and he gently slipped a hand onto her shoulder, “Bridge, hey Bridge, time to go home-” 

“Berty? I had the strangest dream…” She yawned, as he guided her to her feet and took the tin from her lap. 

“Oh yeah? What about? I had quite the adventure meself…”


	5. 1900

“You are nuts, nuts I say,” Uncle Albert laughed as he poured himself his third sherry.

“You mean brilliant, I think,” Bert concentrated on testing the lever on the device currently laying in pieces across the dinner table.

“Okay, okay, I got another one-” Al reached out to pluck up the bicycle horn laying nearby, “A young child says to his mother, ‘Mom, when I grow up I’d like to be a musician.”’

“Oh, now, don’t you start that again, you know how you get-”

The older man beamed widely before proclaiming, “ She replies, "Well honey, you know you can’t do both!” He grinned even wider and gave the bike horn two honks for good measure.

Bert stared evenly across the table.

Both men locked eyes for several minutes.

Bert broke first, snorting hysterically as he went back to his work as Albert broke out in a raucous laughter. 

“That one was terrible. I know you can do better.”

Mary Poppins had only been with a new family for a little over a week (the Worthingtons, this time), when she went to Uncle Albert’s for a visit. Last she’d seen, he was beginning to teach Bert how to read (unfortunately with the use of jokebooks), and she was looking forward to hearing about how he’d progressed in recent years. Four and a half of them, to be more exact. She approached his front door, and rang the bell, waiting patiently outside the door.

“Okay okay okay, well, why was the musician arrested?” Uncle Albert pressed, waving the instrument at the young man across from him.   
Still snickering and shaking his head, Bert rolled his eyes, “I don’t know, Uncle Al, why WAS the musician arrested.”

Albert pursed his lips to hold in his laughter and insert a pause for dramatic effect. “He was in treble.”

It took several minutes before they heard the bell. Bert had busied himself back down to his work, and so it was Albert who rose to answer, bouncing a bit too lightly in the air for a man of his age and size, “Who is it?” He sang out before opening the door, “Oh! Well, happy New Year to you, Mary!”

Behind him, there was the sudden sound of several pieces of metal and a tambourine dropping to the carpet in a clatter.

Mary withdrew a compact from her purse while she waited, checking her makeup. She quickly put it away, as Uncle Albert answered the door. “Happy New Year, Uncle Albert.” His response was cut short by a clamor, further inside. She peeked past him. “Is Bert visiting today?”

Once she’d been ushered in, she entered the main room, immediately smiling at the familiar face. Bert was even taller now, than before. He towered above her now, at least half a foot higher. Then again, he was 19 or 20 now, by her estimate. “Bert, it’s so good to see you again.” He looked every bit the man she always expected him to grow into. Gangly, but handsome. “What’s this you’re working on?”

“Mary! When did you blow into town?” He had stood up so quickly he had become entangled in his chair, but managed to step upright without knocking any of his gadgetry further to the floor. He gathered up the fallen bits, setting them back onto the table with a ruckus and fought the urge to give her a frantic hug. “I didn’t expect to see you again for a while!” 

“Now now, she asked you a question- go on, explain your hair brained scheme. Sherry, Miss Mary? It is a holiday, after all!” Uncle Albert giggled, waiting to take her coat and hat.

“W-what, this? Just a work in progress-” Bert scrambled to heft up what looked like a converted hiker’s pack dangling with levers and pull cords and what suspiciously like far too many instruments.

Mary removed her coat and hat and handed them to Uncle Albert graciously. “Yes, that sounds quite nice, I think.” While he got her drink, she returned to Bert’s side, getting a better look at the contraption. She cocked her head and squinted for a moment, trying to piece together what it was. “Is that… what I think is it? Why Bert, it’s the largest one-man-band I’ve ever seen. Quite impressive, if you can get it in working order.” She whispered a thank you to Uncle Albert as he handed her her sherry. She took a sip.

“Oh, it works alright! Well, it WILL once i get those bits attached but here…” He set it down for a moment while he rushed about to move a few chairs and coffee tables out of the way and make room before hauling the thing up onto his back and carefully slipped his feet into the appropriate straps, “I tried t'get a proper band going but the lads is all useless at steppin’ in time when we AINT on rooftops, so it was the logical best next step, clearly!” As he moved, his contraption went thum-tum-tum-tum-SPRONK. 

“Boy’s got it in his head now he’s gonna’ be a MUSICIAN,” Uncle Albert cackled, “You’re a riot, Bert-m'boy. A total riot.”

“Just followin’ me heart, Uncle Al. And me heart says *make as much noise as humanly possible in the middle of the park.*” At that, he gave a rimshot and a wink in Mary’s direction.

Mary looked away. “Oh Bert…” She was surprised at how lively he still was. He dreamed big, and she liked that about him. It was difficult to believe that this young man was the same dirty little boy that her lifted her coin purse all those years ago. She took another sip, and hiccuped. “Oh dear.”

Changing she subject, as he removed the contraption again, she asked “Is Uncle Albert still teaching you how to read?”

Bert wove a hand, “Oh, I got that down pat years ago.”

“Try last year,” Albert snickered.

“I read JUST FINE, t'ank you very much!” He clanked and pinged and jingled and honked as he crossed the room to retrieve his own sherry glass, allowing the offending man to refill it. After draining said glass, he shrugged out of his contraption with a laugh and moved to sit nearby her, “Gosh… You really haven’t changed, have you?” Like always, he drank her in. Just the sight of her warmed his blood more than the whole bottle he and the older gentleman could easily kill in an evening. She looked just the same as ever. Beautiful, collected, smelling of wildflowers and rainstorms… He supposed he must have changed a lot, even in just a few years. Older, taller, cleaner- He had mastered shaving with Uncle Albert’s help, kept his hair trim, his clothes clean and tidy and for the most part fitting him properly when he wasn’t Sweeping. “You staying for midnight?”

Watching the two of them banter warmed her heart. This was what she had hoped for both of them. Uncle Albert didn’t have to be quite so lonely, anymore, and he’d clearly had a positive effect on Bert.

Mary downed the rest of her sherry, when Bert mentioned her appearance. A little part of her had hoped that Uncle Albert would explain, but she supposed that hadn’t gone according to plan. She could feel him staring at her, examining her. Moreso than wanting Albert to explain her situation, she had wanted Bert to find a sweet young woman to romance. Either that hadn’t happened either, or he was more of a scoundrel than she thought.

Mary cast a glance at the clock. It was already 8 pm. She smiled, and nodded. “Yes, I believe I will. I have the evening off. Best not to waste it.” As Albert refilled her glass, she looked at Bert out of the corner of her eye. “Did you ever take that lovely girl to dinner? What was her name? Bridget.” She thanked Uncle Albert, and drank her sherry a bit quicker this time.

“Who? Oh! Er, yeah, yeah we went out a few times… it didn’t work out- say, didn’t you stash a bottle of rum somewhere?” He pressed to Albert who gave a squeal of delight.

“Which one was that? The red head, the brunette or the blonde?” 

Bert gave him a *look*. “I’ll go find it.”

Mary gave Albert a disapproving look. If Bert was seeing a variety of women, well, that was for the best. It just increased the likelihood that he would find someone to spend his life with, and that’s all she really wanted for him. “Now, Uncle Albert, don’t tease him. He’s just finding his way. It can be difficult sometimes.” She finished her drink.

“We’ll just say… I 'aven’t found the perfect fit just yet,” Bert put mildly, returning with several glasses and the bottle. “'Ere’s to the return of Miss Mary and a new er… what’s the word? More'n Decade, less than a Milena…”

“Century, Bert.” Mary offered. She eyed him, as he poured them each a glass, taking hers perhaps a little too enthusiastically. She calmed herself, before taking a drink. She was quite fond of rum, but no need to get fuddled so early in the night. She raised her glass, once they all had one. “Cheers. May we all have the best year we can.” She took a gulp, made a bit of a face, then put her glass on the table, deciding to pace herself.

Bert beamed at her over his own glass, eyebrows raised, “Why Miss Mary! I never took you for a party gal!”

Mary sat on the edge of her chair with a noble expression. “I’m perfectly capable of drinking responsibly, if there’s a special occasion.” With a look between the two, she asked. “Now how shall we pass the time?”

Albert clapped his hands, “Oh, let’s play a game! Charades! Or twenty questions!”

* * *

 

Hours had passed, and it was nearing 11:30. Mary felt pleasantly giddy, after all the fun they had had (and alcohol they had consumed). Uncle Albert muttered jokes to them, making them all giggle, even though he was clearly nodding off. “How does the man in the moon cut his hair?”

“How?” Mary asked.

After a pause, he replied. “Eclipse it!” Uncle Albert laughed through his teeth, slowly rising into the air. Only about halfway up, he let out a snore, and floated back into his chair.

She tutted. “That’s too bad. He’ll miss the midnight chimes.”

“'E 'ad 'is fun,” Bert giggled, wobbling to toss a blanket over him in his chair before sauntering over, “So…. you wanna’ see somfin’?” He offered her his hand, picking up what was left of the bottle to take with them.

Mary took his hand, and stood, stumbling into him a bit. Once she had gathered herself, she smiled. “I would be delighted.”

He lead her by the hand through the house, up the stairs to the attic where after some finagaling dangerously through a window, and out onto the rooftops, “Careful, now!” He urged her only after they were scrambling on the shingles, nevermind the menuver it took to get there.

Mary swayed after him, somewhat thankful that he had a good grip on her hand. Not for her sake, of course. She just didn’t want him to fall and hurt himself. She grinned a bit to herself, as they wormed their way through an attic window. How did he discover this pathway, exactly? He was just the adventurous kind of man, she supposed.

She snorted at his warning, once they were on the shingles. “Don’t you worry, Bert. Mary Poppins never falls, and makes a fool of herself.” She said, as she stumbled a bit. But she didn’t fall! Just as she’d said. Once they’d reached the flat of the roof, he led her to the edge of Uncle Albert’s large, brick chimney, and took a seat, she sat gracefully, although perhaps a bit more slowly than she usually did. “It’s a lovely view.”

“I love it up here,” He said, shifting more comfortably, and careful not to lean on the smoke stack- he learned the hard way that when a fire was down below, the pipes up here got hot. “Quiet, yet y'can hear the whole city from the roofs-” Voices echoed up, everyone clearly excited about the impending New Year. “Things aint the same when you aint around, Miss Poppins.” The stars flickered between the shadows of the smoke from the chimney stacks, and far off they could see Big Ben ticking away the end of the 1800’s.

Mary closed her eyes, listening to the world down below. It was quite calming, really, and she could see why Bert, and presumably a number of other chimney sweeps liked it so much. Her blue eyes opened again at his comment, and she turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Oh? Not the same perhaps, but it might be better.”

“You didn’ say goodbye.”

“Pardon?”

“Last time you left. You just left.”

Mary looked sad now, and shut her mouth. After all, she was not a codfish. she looked out toward the skyline again, silent for a moment. “Sometimes, that’s for the best.”

“And Marry Poppins knows what’s best,” He gave a snorting chuckle before pulling the bottle back out of his coat pocket.   
 _“We go about our lives with an easy how-you-do,_  
 _Meeting lots of people who might make a mark or two,_  
 _They touch our lives and we realize what it is we aught t'do._  
 _But there’s always someone who leaves the brightest lines,_  
 _And wonder 'ow we managed without them 'em in our lives.”_

The minute hand on the great clock glowing in the distance clicked closer, and they could feel London holding it’s breath in anticipation below them.

Mary’s hand twitched in his, as he sang in low tones, in an even and steady pace. She looked at him again, adjusting so she faced him more easily. “Bert…  
 _"Some people touch you, and they help you thrive_  
 _And oftentimes, they fade away, as quick as they arrive_  
 _Goodbyes are hard for those that love you, the way I do_  
 _Sometimes it’s best if I just fly”_

Her eyes stayed on him for a bit too long, before she turned away again. “I’m afraid I’ve had too much to drink tonight.”

Bert opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as Big Ben announced the coming year- his mouth split into a smile as instead he counted, “Five…. six….”

Mary joined in, counting the chimes. “Eight… Nine… Ten… Eleven… Twelve.” The city below exploded in celebration, and she smiled. “Happy New Year, Bert.”

As the singing erupted, he suddenly leaned forward, catching her lips in his, his hand tightening on hers as though afraid she’d fly away.

Mary was swept with a sudden dizziness, and her skin tingled warmly all over. It couldn’t have been the desperation of his grip on her, or the softness of his lips, or the way he smelled like the old woodburning stove that kept her cozy all those years ago. No, she insisted to herself. It was the drink. But she didn’t pull away immediately.

When she did, it was only by an inch or so, at first. Her usually bright eyes were heavy lidded. There was a little part of her that was still making up its mind, trying to choose between leaning in again, and pulling away. Finally, she pulled back properly, turning to face front again, and hoping he couldn’t see the pink in her cheeks. It was dark, after all. She left her hand in his for the moment, not quite ready to remove her digets from his warm, soft palm.

“You must know…” she began, for once, somewhat at a loss for words, “that I could never… could never _be_ with you.”

“I’m no kid anymore,” He whispered. “I’ll be twenty this year. You can do anything you put your mind to, Miss Poppins.”

She smiled a bit. 'Not a kid’ and 'twenty’ would always amuse her. In his world though, he was every part the man. One who had already taken his first steps into adulthood, she was sure. He echoed her words, from the last time she had spent time with him. It wasn’t that simple, though. It never was.

“I think you are quite aware that it is more complicated than just a matter of age.”

“I don’ care,” A strand her her hair had come loose from her bun during their climb, and he gently tucked it away. “I’ll keep waitin’ forever for you, if that’s what it takes. You aint like any woman I ever known, Miss Poppins.”

His palm brushed against her cheek for a moment, and she sighed. Her eyes cast down to the city, catching glimpses of happy families, and friends celebrating in their homes. “You don’t have forever.” She said lowly.

“I could damn well try!”

Her stomach churned, and for the first time in she wasn’t certain how long, she felt like she could cry. She cast her gaze back to him, sadness plastered all over her face. “I will outlive you. I would outlive you ten times over. I had hoped Uncle Albert would tell you, so I wouldn’t have to.” She gripped his hand. “Some day, I will return to London, as I always do, and you will be gone. What would become of me, if I had formed an attachment to you, as you have to me?”

He set his jaw, finally looking away to stare intently at the stars as though unphased, praying she didn’t see the wetness to his own eyes, “I’ve 'ad tea from a carpet bag, wrestled crocodiles, 'ad picnics on the moon, danced on clouds, fallen down far too many chimneys, and one day I’m gonna’ marry you, Miss Poppins.”

Mary’s eyes were downcast, watching the neighbor’s party again. A young man dancing with a woman stopped mid-song, and kissed her. They both grinned foolishly, turning a sweet shade of pink, as they pulled away. She just wanted the same thing for Bert. Was it really asking so much?

Over the years, Mary had found herself no longer wanting it. It was a foolish, and unrealistic desire, and she wasn’t one to waste time on flights of fancy. Even so, as she turned to Bert again, so young and naive, and full of life; so determined, and stuck on the idea of marrying her, she couldn’t help but to think about it.

If...  _if_ she were to find herself able to settle with someone, the power imbalance would still make it improper. If it was frowned upon for someone significantly older to pursue a very young adult, then just how bad would it be in her position?

Mary’s eyes were glassy with tears she was determined not to let fall. “No.” She responded, trembling. “You won’t.”

With a few pops, brightly colored fireworks went off in the sky. The people in the streets below gasped with delight. Mary watched them, pondering the signal of the new year. She wasn’t certain if this was a good start or not.

A band off by the river had sprung up to accompany the fireworks, and Bert folded his arms, “I can do anyfin’ I put MY mind to, remember?” That said, he hopped to his feet, removing his cap in a deep bow and offered his hand as the sky erupted with color and light behind him, “Now! Might I 'ave this dance? First o’ the new Century, and it’s all yours!”

Yes, she had told him that. It was becoming clear he wasn’t going to give up, just with her urging him to. Mary put a hand to her chest, and smiled, her throat tight. She took his hand. “I would be honored.”

She curtsied, and maybe it was the rum, or simply her emotions getting the better of her, but she stayed all night with him there on the rooftop, dancing to the music from below. When the music faded, they found the wind humming for them. 

When dawn began to light the city, she kissed him on the cheek, before collecting her things and departing.


	6. 1906

Another Tuesday in 1906. In some ways, it felt like a lot had changed, in just that small period, but if there was one thing Mary Poppins could count on to always be basically the same, it was him.

She rounded the corner to the patch of sidewalk he always seemed to work at. Mary didn’t have to talk to him in advance. She just knew he would be there, like always, and he was. He was packing up props, from his most recent endeavor: street magic. In six years, he had grown into his frame, though his legs were still long and skinny. His face had filled out a bit, but when he looked at her and smiled, well, his toothy grin had stayed exactly the way it had always been. Except…

Mary frowned, as she approached him, her pink heels clicking against the ground. “What on earth is that thing on your lip?”

“Ah, Miss Poppins! You just missed the show. And it’s called a mustache, last I checked.” He grinned, puffing out his chest and gave the waxed corner a twirl. “Adds to me MYSTIQUE, don’t y’t’ink?” A dove cooed frantically from somewhere about his person.

Mary sighed, shaking her head lightly. “I’m sorry to have missed it. Did it go well?” She cocked an eyebrow, and opened his jacket a bit. Inside, a dove poked its head desperately out of a pocket. “Calm down now.”

It cooed worriedly at her.

“ _Really_ …” She gave Bert a disapproving look. “Am I to understand that you are keeping this poor thing in your coat pocket for  _hours_  every day? I  _do_  hope she’s exaggerating.”

“She swaps out wit’ her sister several times an ‘our, thank you very much!” He lifted the cloth on the bird cage to shoo her inside before any of his previous patrons could catch sight. “Here, I got one for you-!” He pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and spread them at her enthusiastically. “Pick one.”

Her smile reappeared as she watched the way he looked all around, before letting her out of his coat. He quickly returned to her, fanning out a deck. She gave him a bit of a look, and drew one. It was the Queen of Hearts. Figures. “I suppose you want me to put it back in the desk?”

“Don’t show me!! Alrigh’ lemme guess- I can reaaaad your miiiinnnnd!” He dramatically put a hand to his forehead and put a look of utmost concentration on his face as he gazed deeply into her eyes, “I’m seein’… a bea-utiful woman, all bathed in red-”

Mary’s grip on the card tightened, as he stared into her eyes with that goofy, yet penetrating gaze. She only wished her heart would stop pounding so hard. “Go on.”

He snapped both fingers as he pointed at the card, “Queen o’ hearts!”

She glanced at her card again, changing the image, and turned it around to show him. “Close. This one is the king.”

His brows furrowed and his mustache drooped as he frowned, leaning in for a better look. “You’re cheatin’.”

She laughed gleefully, and gave the card one good shake. It returned to its original picture. “Well, I can’t let you have all the fun.” She slid it back into the deck, fingers brushing against his as she did.

“No ducklings today?” His smile returned at least as he lingered in her hand before returning the cards to his pocket.

Mary lowered her hand to rest with the other, holding her purse. “Not today. It’s Tuesday, remember?” She looked down for a moment, before flashing her eyes back to his. “Would you like to spend the evening together?

“It woul’ be my pleasure! As always,” He beamed, holding out his hand as though to take her’s, but with a flick of his wrist, suddenly produced a bouquet of flowers that were totally not up his sleeve the entire time.

Mary lay a hand over her chest in surprise and giggled. She looked at him fondly, taking the bouquet in one hand, and his hand in the other. “You are just full of surprises today, aren’t you.”

“Today, I am a right Magic Man!” He beamed, giving her hand a squeeze and her knuckles a kiss before moving to pack everything up onto its little hand cart, “Just gotta’ drop these off at Al’s and I’m all your’s!”

“If it’s quite alright, I think I’ll come along.”

As they walked together, and he recounted his recent adventures, Mary found herself feeling lighter than air, as though she might accidentally float away without warning. In the past six years, the wind had brought her back to London with increasing frequency. She was quite surprised the first time, when it carried her back over the skyline after only two years, and almost more so when she returned barely over a year after that. The previous year, she came back twice, with only five months between visits. Highly unusual.

Mary found that she didn’t mind, though. It just gave her time to be with Bert. Certainly more time than she had been able to give any single person in a very long time.

She walked perhaps a bit closer to him than she would any other man, even one she was well acquainted with, but this was different. He was different.

“Would you fancy some tea on the roof?”

“Which roof?” He grinned, holding the gate for her as he lead her around to the shed in the back Albert had let him build to house his various collected interests. There was a coupe of several breeds of pigeons and doves and a couple chickens (for the eggs) and his One-Man-Band collection hanging with care in the corner. He landed his magic case next to the workbench with a delighted sigh.

Mary followed him into the shed, her attention immediately drawn to the variety of birds, lining one wall. She opened one cage, allowing a particularly fluffy pigeon to hop onto her hand. She stroked its head with her fingertips absently as she spoke. “Whichever you prefer. You know the rooftops far better than I.”

“Alrigh’ alright!” He shrugged out of his showier coat he used on afternoons he felt like being magical, and pulled on his usual brown and cap. “So ‘ow are the wee monsters this time around?” He chuckled, making sure everything was in place before leading her off through the yard by the hand.

She returned the pigeon to its cage, and followed him back outside into the sun. “As with all children, they’re quite lovely once they have firm guidance. Ann likes to sit with me in the garden, practicing her needlepoint, and David has just gotten the hang of his bicycle. Fine outlets to keep them busy.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Your illusions have much improved, by the way. I’m impressed.”

He grinned widely as they made their way down the road, leading her toward a particularly tall building, “MAGIC, Ma’am,” He corrected her pointedly.

Mary smiled coyly. “Of course. My mistake.” She looked up at the building. “This one, then?”

“Well, YOU won’ teach me and a bloke’s gotta’ start somewheres, right?” He laughed before nodding, “That’s the one! Got seventeen chimney stacks, me an’ me mates sorted it last week, took days! But the view’s wonderful-” They hadn’t brought a ladder, but he knew with Mary around it wasn’t necessarily needed.

Her hand tightened, and she smiled at him. “One, two, three.” After the count, they jumped forward. It almost felt like they fell a few feet through the solid ground, except when they landed, they were high above the streets. “Here we are then.” She looked out across the city, admiring the way the light trickled through the smokestacks, and glinted off some newer buildings. “Bert, you’ve outdone yourself again. The view truly is spectacular.”

“Knew you’d like it!” He smoothed his stash before gallantly leading her toward a good flat spot between stacks, “When night comes, s’like you can touch the moon from ‘ere.”

Mary sighed and raised a brow, as he touched his mustache. Some men looked quite right with facial hair, and it was immediately clear to her that Bert was not one of those men. She sat in the spot he led her to, opened her purse and began throwing together a makeshift table of sorts, in the space between them. She laid down a doily, set the teapot down, followed by a small pitcher of cream, and a sugar bowl. After withdrawing a few cups and saucers, from her bag, she began to pour for the two of them.

“Honestly, Bert, that mustache is ridiculous. I quite prefer you clean-shaven.”

“Aww, you don’ like it? They’re quite popular at the moment, all me mates got ‘em! Well, except Charlie but ‘e couldn’t grow one if ‘e tried.” He pouted as he took a seat, marveling as she set up their makeshift dining table.

She folded sugar into her tea with a light clinking against the porcelain, and shook her head. “Not at all. I never have, in all my years. They’re too rough, and course, and completely get in the way when you…” Mary trailed off for a moment. Better not to finish that thought. She turned away, and took a sip of her tea. “I just don’t care for them.”

His brows rose as she trailed off, “In the way when y’what?” A grin spread across his face as he popped a sugar cube into his mouth to crunch noisily.

Mary looked at him disapprovingly, as he ate a whole sugar cube by itself. She focused down on her tea. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Does matter if it means a trip to th’barber.”

Mary looked him in the eye again, and said slowly, and deliberately. “It gets in the way when you kiss…” She took a sip of her tea. “… my hand.” She finished, trying not to smirk. “It itches.”

At first he beamed, then he sagged, looking disappointed, “But it adds to th’ look of me show!” He deposited three cubes into his own tea with a hrumph. “Fine fine, I was gettin’ a bit bored anyway- Magic’s more expensive than the tuppence they tip me.”

She set her cup on her saucer. “That’s a shame. You’ve gotten quite good, you know.”

“Yeah?” He perked up, still finding a thrill every time he managed to impress her. “Practice, practice, right? Y’know, I could use some tips-” He pressed as he had every time the topic of magic- illusion or otherwise- came up.

Mary always liked that hopeful smile. It warmed her up. “It’s not as simple as just getting ‘tips’, Bert. In most cases, it isn’t learned, it simply… is. Although I would recommend you practice your slight of hand, rather than using trick decks.” After one last sip, she set her cup down, and peeked into her bag again. “I’m afraid I don’t have scones with me…”

“‘Oo said it was a trick deck!” He huffed, arms crossed.

Mary chuckled. “I suppose nobody did.” She smiled broadly at him, a joyous glimmer in her eye. “May I look at them later?”

“Maybe. If’n you’re good,” He tried to look nonplussed as he sipped his tea, mustache dripping like an unconcerned terrier when he lowered the cup.

She poured herself a second cup, still feeling quite amused. “When am I ever not good?”

“Oh, I coul’ t’ink o’a few times…” His eyebrows wriggled suggestively.

A breathy laugh escaped, and her cheeks went a little rosier than usual. That suggestive eyebrow bounce always got to her. She looked back, raising a judgmental brow. “Cheeky.” Mary took another small drink, and then pointed at him. “Just for that, you owe me a look.”

“I owe you noffin’,” He huffed, “Although I could probably be… persuaded wit’ th’righ’ initiative.”

“Oh?” She asked, looking at him somewhat shyly out of the corner of her eye. “Dare I ask what you have in mind?”

“A kiss, per’aps?” Again, the hopeful wriggling of eyebrows.

The thought gave her butterflies. He hadn’t kissed her since that night on Uncle Albert’s roof, and since then… well, a lot had happened. He’d certainly made it clear that he wasn’t going to give up anytime soon, making respectful advances whenever they spent a day together. The more she was around him, the more she looked at him like an adult, and less like the little boy she met so long ago. Sometimes, she had trouble remembering exactly what he looked like, at that age.

Mary packed everything back into her bag, set it down, out of the way, and scooted closer. She leaned in, placed a hand to his cheek, stroked his mustache with her thumb, and said, “Not with this thing on your face.”

“Then we mus’ to a barber’s a’ once!” He declared with utmost importance. “I swear, Miss Poppins, you’re enouf’ to send a man t’drink.”

She scowled. “Oh, very well.” She gathered her things, and walked to the edge of the rooftop, opening her umbrella. “Come along, then.”

“Jus’ one t’ing,” Bert strode toward her with his arms crossed and cap tilted in a thoroughly sassy angle, “If I ha’ it shaved off, will you marry me?”

Mary looked him in the eye, unamused. “No.”

He sagged, sighed, and shrugged, “Well, I ‘ad t’try.”

Mary smiled at him, took his hand, and off they flew, across the London skyline.

* * *

 

Not long after, they made their way through the park, her hand resting in the crook of his arm. “That’s much better. I can see your smile now, too.”

Bert rubbed his face sullenly, especially his now cold upper lip. It had been quick and painless, and hadn’t cost him a dime, and hopefully made her happy. “I’ll ha’ t’tell the lads m’ startin’ me own trend. Charlie’ll be relieved. Although I ‘ave been considerin’ chops-“

“Facial hair is for old men, and sailors. You are neither. Besides,” she continued walking, “I think a clean shave suits you. It makes you look more honest, and charming.”

“Hmm, both very valid points,” He nodded, happy to just walk with her on his arm. It sent an intoxicating thrill through him, as though he was only complete when she was there by his side. Not that she cared about that. He cleared his throat, granting her a grin, “Although I ‘ave been t’inkin’ ‘bout lookin’ into sailing. Explorin’ the seas and whatnot. Lots o’ blokes my age do!” Not that he even knew much about swimming, but he was always up for learning new skills.

Her grip tightened on his arm, and she looked up at him, her eyebrows raised. “Sailing?” She cleared her throat, trying to shake the concern from her voice. Even so, she spoke faster and faster. “I wasn’t aware that you had learned to swim. The ocean can be quite dangerous, you know, even for the best crew, and Bert, there are just so manystoriesofshipsgettinglostatsea.”

“I don’t wanna’ just stay in London me whole life… You at least travel ‘round! But what am I t’do when you aint here? Swimmin’ can’t be tha’ ‘ard. No’ after that bit I jes’ learned wit’ them doves!”

Mary forced a little smile at his comment about the doves, and looked away, casting her eyes down to the walkway. Her grip remained tight on his arm. It really wasn’t her place to stop him from any endeavor he wanted. Regardless of how important to him she was, Mary Poppins was still away from London for the majority of her time. Acting as though she had any say in his decisions was at best selfish, and at worst, downright cruel.

They walked in silence for some time, following the river as light dimmed around them. He debated for a long while before he spoke, smile remaining, “‘Ow about… we pick up some nice fish and I fry us up some supper back ‘ome.”

She picked up her gaze again, looking composed once more. She gave him an agreeable look. “That sounds lovely.” After a short trip to the market, which they arrived at just in time, they walked together toward his home, dinner in tow. It occurred to her that she had never been to his home. She imagined the look on the childrens’ mother’s face, if she ever heard that her unwed nanny was going to dinner at a man’s home _alone_. The thought made her smirk, and she found herself not caring at all.

Bert, though, was very aware she had never seen where he lived. In all their years- decades nearly, it had always been out and about- in passing while they both had been on the job, or Tuesday strolls and visits to Uncle Albert’s. At least he had a proper one. Even so, with the groceries for their dinner tucked under his arm, the houses grew steadily dimmer, shabbier, and much more affordable, “Well, it aint much but it’s quite cozy!” He babbled through his growing anxiety, fishing out his key as they approached a low series of apartments. More like a bee hive than the lovely homes he Swept and she nannied for. “Wasn’t expectin’ company, but it’ll clean up in a right jiff-“

Contrary to the way Bert began to fidget and babble, as they drew nearer to his home, she quite liked the area. She supposed that she had never specified just how long she had been around. Long enough to have seen the hovels that people used to live in. Even back then, she hadn’t minded. She was just happy to have someone to laugh with. 

“I like cozy.” She replied encouragingly. He likely forgot that she herself was frequently restricted to a small room in the houses she worked in.

Inside was a two-roomed flat, although with the state of things, it was more like a warehouse. It was no wonder Uncle Albert had agreed to his shed, the place was brimming with  _things._  The walls were lined with pastel drawings of various things- places, people, scenes from London and some from his imagination, stacks of books, manuals, how-to guides, magazines,sheet music. Much of the space between the somewhat hidden dining table was occupied by rows of stacked paintings. The table itself was covered by various hobbies he had long since tired of, or failed endeavors. There was a fine layer of soot all around, especially in a trail along the wooden floor toward the bedroom, and a small stove in the corner. If there was a wash room about the place, it was questionable at best. The fish was left on the small wooden table near the stove he apparently cooked at, judging by the small handful of dishes and the wash basin. “Make yerself at ‘ome! Ah- shoot,” He took an armful of a large sack of stuffed animals to reveal a chair that looked suspiciously like Albert had given it to him and tossed it in the bedroom before closing the door. “Tadaa!”

Mary looked at the area with her eyebrows raised. She wasn’t  _too_  surprised. It wasn’t like he had had parents around to teach him to pick up after himself. 

“Oh dear.” She muttered, removing her coat and hat. She herself tended to have a lot of things, but at least she’d consolidated, and knew where everything was, for the most part. She set her things on the empty chair, and looked at him determined. “I’ll help you tidy up.” With a practiced swiftness, Mary unbuttoned her cuffs, and folded her sleeves up.

His face had gone beat red, “Ah- aint no need-“

She brushed him off. “Oh, nonsense. It will hardly take any time at all.” She snapped her fingers, and the clutter on the table leapt over to the windowsill, aligning itself neatly.

Now it was his turn to not be entirely surprised.

With another snap, the dishes cleaned themselves in the sink, and popped themselves into the cupboard, without complaint. Mary held her fingers out to snap again, but stopped, eyeing the stack of paintings. There was a number of them, and they weren’t exactly easy to store… “Bert, where would you like the paintings?” She walked over and picked up the one on top. It was a lovely scenic painting of a field full of wildflowers in springtime. She smiled.

As the dishes leaped, so did Bert, nearly dropping the match he was using to light the stove. “Now tha’s gotta’ be a right handy trick-” He glanced over to the paintings in question, and immediately blushed, “Oh ah… I was t’inkin’ of bringin’ em to Albert’s at some point-” He let the stove warm up as he hurried to try to grab the stack before she noticed the particular painting she had uncovered, “Could just toss ‘em in the bedroom fer now-“

Mary looked at it for a little bit longer. He was very good now. She was surprised he hadn’t sold any of these. She lowered it just as he hurried over to gather the rest, and glimpsed the next painting on the pile. It was a mostly finished painting of her, and quite a likeness. She looked from the painting, to Bert, who was still blushing, before turning away and smiling. “Oh Bert…”

It would be so easy to tease him about this, and she did love to do it, but she would let him off the hook for this one. It was too sweet. “Ahem, in the bedroom then?”

“Pardon?” The corners of his mouth twitched up.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned a bit red now, herself. “The er… the paintings.”

“Right right! I’ll get ‘em if you want to start on the fish?” He offered as gentlemanly as possible, collecting them up to cart them away.

“Certainly.” She started toward the stove, stopped, put the painting back to the table, and moved toward the cooking area, smoothing her hair a little with her hand. Before long, she had fish fillets in a skillet, sizzling away. “I’ll be but a few minutes.”

For a small place, it really was quite cozy once it was tidy, and they had even recovered more chairs and ate at the table like civilized people. “I was t’inkin’ o’ savin’ up for a radio, but the fellow next door’s a violinist, so aint ‘ever been needed, really!” He leaned back, picking a fish bone from his teeth. It had been a lovely dinner, and a long time since he’d last had company. This was nice. He could get used to this. “Your cooking, I must say, puts mine t’shame.”

Mary set her fork on her empty plate, and lowered her hands to her lap. Under the table, they fidgeted nervously with her skirt. “Well I am… what was it you said all that time ago? ‘Practically perfect.’ I suppose that includes cooking.” Lord knew she’d had plenty of practice. As if on cue, faint sounds of violin came through a wall. “It is quite soothing, isn’t it?”

“Aint driven me mad just yet!” He laughed.

The corners of her lips turned up just a hair, to match the relaxed expression on her face. “Bert… this idea of yours, to go exploring on the ocean… I’ve thought about it, and I just… I don’t like the idea of you putting yourself in danger like that. It’s reckless.”

That made him raise his eyebrows, “I leap aroun’ rooftops fer a livin’, ma’am.”

“That’s a different situation, as I believe you are quite aware. You’ve been doing that for nearly twenty years.”

“An it aint killed me yet!” He grinned, enjoying how much this seemed to distress her.  It wasn’t very often he got to see Miss Poppins flustered.

Flustered she was. Usually, she found it quite easy to get her way. Hundreds of years being around people makes one very good at that sort of thing. But as it seemed to be in many regards, Bert was just… _different_. He saw right through her, like a brand new pane of glass.

“I’m not… I’m not typically up front with people, when it comes to discussing more personal matters.”

“I’ve come t’notice,” He offered gently.

The moment she realized that she was going to tell him, the tension left her. It had become clear that this talk was a long time coming, and a part of her was relieved that they were about to get it out of the way. “Do you recall what I told you, that night on Uncle Albert’s rooftop?” She paused, then elaborated. “That I can’t allow myself to become too attached to you?”

His expression turned more serious as he pulled a pipe out of the side table’s drawer, “Some’ow I like t’think that aint the case.”

Mary stood, and moved to the window, looking outside at the small patch of sky that she could make out between buildings. She sighed. “It isn’t the case anymore.”

Bert watched her carefully, unsure, for once, what to say, “Oh?” He settled for.

Mary turned to him, and looked on thoughtfully. “I care for you. Too much.” Shyly, she looked out the window again. “Please don’t do anything dangerous when I go. If something happened to you… I couldn’t bear it.”

“Noffin’s gonna’ ‘appen to me, love, I promise you that. We gotta’ get married one day, don’t we?” He stood to walk toward her, joining her at the window.  He had a lovely vew of the building across the street, but through the alley between buildings, there was a glimpse of skyline of the city and a few twinkling street lamps.

She laughed. “You’ll never stop trying, will you?”

“Not never no how, Miss Poppins!”

One corner of her mouth tugged into a grin. “Why don’t you show me those cards?”

“Still caught up on tha’ are you? Spoils the magic,” He huffed, but fished into his pocket all the same, pulling the deck out of his pocket to hand it over as he had promised.

Mary beamed, taking it from him. She shuffled them a few times, in her own special way, and turned them over to reveal an extremely ordinary deck of cards. “What a surprise. You were honest after all.”

“Wait what?” He leaned in to look, snatching them from her as he shuffled through with brows furrowed, “Hey! Hey, you know how much that deck cost??”

“Oh, very well.” She snatched them right back, and gave them a a few hard shakes. With each shake, they faded back into their original form: 52 queens of hearts. Mary unfanned them, and handed them back, snickering. “I’m sorry.”

“No you aint,” He snickered, tucking them into his shirt pocket, “Now as fer payment for one o’ me secrets there…?”

Mary looked to the side guiltily. She had hoped she could sneak her way out of this one. “How could I forget?” She looked up at him for a moment, considering, finally settling to rest a hand on his chest and kiss him on the cheek, very nearly on the corner of his mouth. “There you are.”

“Why, Miss Poppins!” He blushed, but drank it in all the same. It was better than nothing.

It had always delighted her, to see the way he got so bashful around her. He was the one that made her smile most genuinely. More so than anyone in a very long time. “Now Bert, I really must be going.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Miss Poppins. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. Bring th’kids by the park, I’ll make sure they get a good show! This time with 100% less mustache!”

Mary picked up her coat and slid it back on, along with her gloves. She placed her hat back on, but stopped with her hand halfway to her bag and umbrella, suddenly considering. She cared about Bert more than anyone else. She cared more than she had allowed herself to care for a very long time. It couldn’t really hurt, could it?

She paced back over in front of him, ran her fingers up to lightly clutch the lapel of his jacket, and kissed him.

He was just about to follow her to do the door to help her out, Handing her her hat as she dressed, but the sudden return and proximity took him off guard. He wasn’t one to ask too many questions when it came to opportunities like this, a hand gingerly rising to take her hand. Wildflowers and rain.

Lost in the moment, one that would only come about every several years, it seemed, she found herself lingering there, not particularly wanting it to end. Finally, she pulled back, her eyes staying on him. she moved her free hand up to touch his upper lip. “Yes, it’s much better that way.”

He felt as though his lips were glued shut by the touch, holding his breath for a moment before finally mumbling, “I’ll see you t’morrow, Miss Poppins?”

Mary’s lips tingled, threatening to stretch into another broad grin. She simply nodded. “Good evening, Bert.” She lifted her bag, and umbrella, and let herself out. The moment she was around the corner at the opposite end of the street, she let out a big puff of air in a vain attempt to get herself to relax from this bouncy, energetic state.

She wasn’t sure why she had decided to do it, and a nagging part of her told her it was a bad idea. It was a silly, immature thing to do. But it felt right at the time… for once she felt real, rather than like something imaginary. It was worth it, she decided, but she couldn’t let it happen again. Mary nodded once, and went on her way.


	7. 1908

The rooftops were deserted, save for the distant figures of his mates making their way back home or to the pub for some laughs and drinks- he’d catch up with them later. It was the sort of late that bordered on early, but he had a stop to make. This wasn’t the first time he had done this sort of thing, but that didn’t stop it from sending a warm thrill through him as he silently slid down the tiles to sit firmly just above the appropriate window, and carefully hooked the little parcel on the end of his brush handle. Slowly, steadily, and in a practiced motion he lowered the bundle down to nest in her window box up against the glass window where she could see it. That done, he grinned to himself and hurried off into the night. She’d know who it was from.

* * *

 

As she did every night, Mary sat in the nursery beside the childrens’ beds until they fell asleep, sometimes singing, or reading aloud to them, or simply taking the time for herself, if the little ones were too tired to fuss. On that particular night, she was reading through Shakespeare’s sonnets, for the umpteenth time, occasionally casting a glance to check on the children. They both snoozed soundly, so with a soft smile, she stood, turned off their lights, and made her way to her room. It was a very small room, with barely enough space for a bed, a dresser, and a little table by the window, but it had good light, and was decorated nicely.

Mary marked her page in her little book, and moved to the table. She was removing the pins in her hair and setting them in a dish for the next days use, when she spotted a little parcel outside her window. Chuckling, she slid the window open, letting the cold air rush in. After closing it, she sat on her bed, and carefully unwrapped it. Inside were a small jar of french lavender honey, two scones, and a bouquet of deep pink cyclamen wrapped in a yellow floral cloth napkin. Mary opened her carpet bag, and pulled out a short vase She filled it with water from a pitcher on her table, and moved the flowers into it, finally taking them to be placed on her dresser, next to a few other little bouquets. The honey and scones, she would have for breakfast.

Sometimes Mary worried about Bert, as he ran about in the night this time of year. The winter brought a bitter chill to London, that was even hard to shake inside a nicer house. As she changed, and lay down to sleep she mulled this over. Just as her eyelids began to feel heavy, she got an idea.

* * *

 

The next evening, Bert had been lucky in his take for the day and had celebrated by purchasing some dried lavender and a blue ribbon, and just like always he skid down the shingles just above her window and started to prepare his brush… this time, though, there was something already down there. He glanced to the street, making sure no one was watching before carefully, quietly, he managed to lean off the gutter and precariously cling to the side of the building. The windowbox might not have been able to hold his weight, but the windowsill did and he very carefully managed to swap his gift with whatever was left for him- he had to assume, anyway. Why else would it be left out there like that? Gripping the bundle in his teeth, he hefted himself back up onto the rooftop wincing only once as a tile came loose and clattered to the ground below. He was already up and hurrying silently around the chimney to safety by the time anyone might notice.

The bricks were warm against his back, and he carefully unwrapped the bundle on his lap- There sat a scarf and mits- hand-knit, clearly, and the mits were fingerless, perfect to keep his hands toasty while still free to hold chalk, a squeezebox or a chimney brush. He pulled them on immediately, before picking up the flask and unscrewing the lid- the smell of hot chicken wafted up dreamily. Oh, Miss Mary, this was too much. He finally opened the letter, striking a match to read her clean, crisp handwriting adoringly,

_“Stay warm.”_

He poured a generous helping into the cap and drank until he was full, before carefully placing the now empty container back down next to her small lavender bundle.

* * *

 

The following day, Mary was out and about with the children, running a few errands. A single cyclamen with a blue ribbon tied around it had been pinned to the lapel of her grey suit. She stopped at a corner to double check her to-do list, and absently stroked the petals as she read. Her focus was broken, as she felt a tug at the hem of her coat.

“Miss Poppins? Where did you get the flower?”

She smiled at the curious face of little Gwen, as her big brother, Oscar caught up to see what she was talking about. “A very dear friend gave it to me.”

Oscar’s face fell a bit. “A  _gentleman_  friend?”

Quite the opposite of her brother, Gwen smiled at the thought. “I read a book once where a man gave a woman flowers because he loved her.”

She touched the flower once more before reaching for the girl’s hand, walking with her in tow. Oscar followed behind, sulking. “Yes, that is quite common in a courtship. Keep up, Oscar, spit-spot.”

As they walked, Mary found them passing a certain screever, hard at work on multiple beautiful scenes. Her eyes lingered on him, and a slow, bashful smile grew on her face.

The artist concentrated on his work, breath visible in the crisp winter air, but his hands were warm in his mits. A familiar clip clop of a certain pair of shoes broke him from his concentration, eyes traveling up to the ankles attached and the sweeping skirt as they passed, his own smile not wavering as he saw the ducklings following after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Stray Cat Lullaby (Chapter 2) this was originally a standalone piece.


	8. 1911

Bert had been drawing for quite some time now, and was fairly proud of how quickly he could work these days.  A few final touches, and he moved along to the next large sidewalk brick, his hands and knees (and nose) covered in various colors as he smudged and scraped and swiped, pulling pictures out of the blank grey stone canvas.

He’d learned tricks, like a hard thick dot of yellow on a dark green base, smudge it around with his thumb and punctuate it with a white mark and suddenly there were little floating fireflies drifting along the riverbank.  He moved along to the forest he had explored in his recent trip to the Americas, although he pointedly left out the canoe hurtling over the waterfall, but he did have fun drawing in the churning waters at it’s base. 

Another painting, this one mostly black and white with only a few hints of color in between looked almost abstract up until you realized you were looking at a mass of various dalmatians with a piano and a figure hidden somewhere in the dog-storm. 

He glanced up at the clock hanging from a nearby building before sighing. Still some time before she arrived… He wiped his forehead, leaving a rainbow smear before setting to work on the final, most important painting of all.

* * *

Mary had finally been able to tear herself away from the Wilksinsons just after two. She was a bit irate they had kept her so long, on her day off of all days. A woman makes plans for these occasions, but Mrs. Wilkinson seemed to have forgotten that. In her room, Mary stared in her mirror, making sure that not a hair was out of place. Finally, she straightened out her hat, put on the heather grey coat, to match her skirt, tucked her umbrella under her arm, and left the house.

She sighed pleasantly the moment she was outside. It was a lovely day, cold but sunny. Straight away, she headed for the park, which was a bit further off, in the new home. A part of her longed for the days she worked for the Banks’, who lived just across the road from it, but she wasn’t too upset. Exercise was never a bad thing, after all.

Several blocks of walking later, she caught her first glimpse of the green grass. Mary picked up her pace just a bit, heading for the square that Bert always set himself up at. Down the sidewalk, through the wrought iron gate, following the paths through the trees, finally out the other side, and there he was, just like always. She approached quietly, and acted the part of any bystander, looking at the images he’d made that day. She crouched down beside him and rest her chin on her knuckles, watching his hand move across the lovely scene. “Perhaps add a bird or two in the sky.”

“Oh, yeah yeah, that’d break it up-” He had just finished the clouds, and without looking up he fumbled in his towel for the burnt umber- he had always just called it Dark Brown until a real artsy-fartsy type had come to appraise his work and taught him the correct terminology, and with a flick of his hand there was soon several swooping through the curling grey and blues of the sky. It was overcast in his painting, but the cheery sort of overcast that allowed glimpses of sunlight to pour down onto the flower-dotted field below.  

It was a far cry from the tiger ripping apart a deer and other more adventurous scenes he had tried when he was younger. Even so, in the cool weather there were hardly any paying observers today.

Mary smirked. He was so absorbed in his work, that he hadn’t even noticed her. Not really anyway. She just stayed there beside him, grinning at him. Waiting wasn’t a problem. She sort of liked watching the way his brow would furrow when he was focused, or the way he would stick his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

“There!” With a flourish and a few last touches, he was done, sitting up proudly and only then realized just who was watching him. “Oh! When’d you get here, Miss Mary!” He was a right mess, and he knew it, but it could be worse- and had been worse. As far as he was concerned, she was here and that made the moment perfect.

She laughed lightly when he finally noticed her. “Just before I suggested the birds, I believe.” She stood up, surveying his work once more. “Would you like to take tea with me today?”

“You know I’d love to,” He fumbled upright, face flushed, “Always!” His eyes went down to the paintings and back up to her again with a smile. “You like what I’ve painted you t'day?” It was like she had never left. Just another Tuesday. Life as usual, and for the first time in a long time, he felt complete.

“What you’ve painted  _me?”_ She echoed, her eyebrows up. “And here I believed they were for any passerby to enjoy.”

"Obviously not, or there’d be more in me cap,” He winked.

She suddenly found herself smiling quite broadly, and quickly averted her gaze to the ground. Her eyes fell to the landscape he had just finished, with her birds in the sky. “That one there is really quite lovely. There’s something dark and romantic about it. Your use of color is spectacular.”

“I’ve ‘ad a lotta’ practice,” He murmured, and she of all people would know how much. He looked down as well, pretending to study his work, but really he was studying their shoes together in the same square.

“You know,” she started, somewhat hesitantly. “We could always have tea there.” Really, the idea made her feel giddy from the top of her head all the way down to her toes. Last time they had taken a trip like that, she was still with the Banks’, and she could scarcely remember having a better time than on that day, dancing with Bert through the green hills.

Bert certainly remembered that day as well. The Jolliest of Holidays- he had thought that one through as thoroughly as possible, just waiting for her magic.  In all of their trips into the chalky fairy lands, that one only had one flaw- they hadn’t exactly been alone.  “Alrigh’ then! It’s decided!” He declared, taking her hand before leaning sharply to the side as though leaping toward the ground…

Mary grinned and took a jump. With a cool colored puff, they found themselves standing in a field of beautiful purple, blue, and red flowers - tulips were among them, but many of the others she didn’t recognize. She silently wondered if Bert had simply made them up. She looked down to find herself in a long cornflower blue dress, with striped detailing, and soft brown lace at the cuffs of the elbow length sleeves, and the top of the modesty panel. Her hat was gone, but a daisy and a few berries remained, in an attractive hair decoration. She reached down to pat the chalk off her new outfit, before glancing over to Bert.

Bert’s suit was the same brown as her dress, but with a matching blue lapel and ribbon on his sandy bowler. After looking himself over, he looked to her and grinned, straightening his black bowtie.

Mary rest her hand in the crook of his arm, grinning at him prettily. Looking further on, she noticed something familiar. “Is that the gazebo from the park?” It looked a bit different. There was less wear and tear, and it was a crisp white, much like it had been many years ago.

“Why don’ we go have a look?” In the midst of such beautiful scenery, his eyes were all on her. He knew the world around them by heart, after all. Humming, he lead her down the stone path, drinking in the pallet he was so proud of. The cool smell of rain carried toward them on a warm breeze and the flowers were all stretching their droplet-coated petals toward the returning sun- The rain was on it’s way out, after all. And everywhere… it smelled like her.

She trotted along beside him, biting her lip, and trying to keep herself from looking at the ground too much. Her eyes flashed back up to him, as he began humming in his lovely baritone voice. She felt quite content at that moment, and gave his arm a little squeeze. As they drew closer, she was suddenly swept with a sense of nostalgia. The lighting in the overcast sky was just as it was all those years ago. She took a seat in the same spot. “I suppose, in a sense, this is where we first met, isn’t it?”

“Thought it’d be better for tea than an alley, anyway!” Bert casually sat as though he owned the place, which one could consider he did, and immediately several birds as blue as Mary’s dress flit down, dropping little napkin parachutes containing a small bundle that landed on their laps smartly.

Mary laughed, delighted, and unwrapped the bundle. Inside were several raspberry jam cakes- her favorite. Bert was already working through a chocolate scone, so she wasted no time in taking a bite of her own snack. The texture was a dream, and she found herself polishing it off a bit more quickly than was ladylike.

Just as she reached for a second, several more birds flittered down, straining to hold a tray with a teaset on it. Once they were close enough, Mary took some of the weight, and helped ease it down to sit between Bert and her. Most quickly flew away, but one stayed, landing on her finger. She whistled with it for a moment, before it rose off her finger to give her a gentle peck on the cheek and fly away.

She poured herself a cup of tea, and began preparing it to her liking. “There’s always the one that wants a kiss goodbye, it seems.”

He poured his own cup, trying to contain his own grin, “Can’t blame ‘im, can you?”

Mary barked a laugh. “Always the charmer.” She sipped her tea.

“I suppose this is where the ahah… magic started, aint it?” He looked around to finally drink in their surroundings with their tea, his hand sliding into his jacket pocket. “Changed a bit since then.”

She drank some more of her tea, and set the cup down. Draping an arm across the railing, she looked back at the scenery. “This was always my favorite sort of weather. It makes all the colors so deep, and rich… but it’s not cold at all. Like a summer lightning storm.” Peering a bit further on, she could make out a lake, with a little dock.

“I’m quite full are you?” His hand lifted out of his pocket as he set his teacup down and rose to offer her a hand, “Perfect weather for a nice stroll, doncherfink?”

Mary set down her own cup and nodded. “Yes, I think I’m satisfied.” She delicately took his hand, leaving it there for their walk. This time, she was the one humming- the familiar tune from their last outing together. She walked down the path with him, a bit of a skip in her step, as flowers from the sides of the path brushed against their legs. As the scene grew darker, little lights twinkled in the field. It took her a moment before she realized they were fireflies. “Oh, Bert…” She turned to look at him, her blue eyes glimmering in the low light. “You just keep surprising me.”

“I learned a real neat trick t’make ‘em,” He beamed before crouching to pinch a yellow flower petal and press his thumb into the air- immediately, another firefly whisked between them to land in Mary’s hands.

She gasped, cupping her hands for the little chalk creature to crawl around in. She nodded approvingly. “Effective.” Mary let it fly away, almost feeling like she could float off with it. “Who taught you that one?”

“A misplaced ‘and. Ahahaahaha! Accidents is funny like tha’,” He lead her to the little  wooden boat at the end of a short dock, and carefully pulled it up close and steady, sure to make sure his arm was available for balance.

Mary laughed along with him. “Sometimes accidents are the best teachers.” She rest a hand on his arm, and carefully stepped into the boat- a lovely white one, that seemed designed to go with the gazebo. She sat on the little bench, which was cushioned, fortunately, and waited patiently for him to get in. “I haven’t had an evening on a lake for a very long time. Chalk, or otherwise.”

“I’d rather no’ talk about the time I was last in a boat,” He chuckled as he carefully untethered them and carefully hopped in to take the oars. This was no rapids. Just a solid lake moved only by the occasional fish or frog or brush of wind. He rowed them out, rather pleased by how effectively the flowers near the shore reflected in the water- the grey in the sky was soon filled with a faint orange of sunset. “Mary… we’ve known each other a real long time, I reckon…”

Mary pinched at an imaginary loose thread on her sleeve. The dress was actually perfectly constructed of course, but she suddenly felt the need to distract herself. Bert had grown into a very handsome adult, and it was difficult to overlook that when he was dressed like a proper gentleman. She supposed that even in her very long life, the amount of time they had been acquainted could be considered long. “Yes, it has been some time, hasn’t it?”

“I… I aint the lad I was,” He let the boat coast once they had enough momentum, resting the oars. A pair of otters whisked by, bobbing to try to catch a glimpse at Pretty Miss Mary, and while she glanced their way his hand dove down into his pocket.

He froze, staring wide-eyed at her.

He stiffly reached into his other pocket.

The panic escalated but was carefully bottled.

Somewhat thankful for the distraction, Mary turned and observed the otters. She dipped a hand down to stroke their soft heads, pleased to find they weren’t wet at all. Chalk drawings really were the best way to observe wildlife. Hand back in the boat, she looked back to Bert, very much a grown, broad-shouldered man. “No, I suppose you aren’t. I can hardly remember that boy’s face anymore.” A smile graced her lips. “Not that I need to, as long as you’re around.”

“And… and I’ll always be around…” Deep breaths. Don’t panic.

The missing item in question had, in fact, fallen from his pocket while he had been hopping onto their little boat.  It was only a turtle that spotted it’s little splash, and quickly enlisted the help of his friend, the frog, to fish it out. Bert was a strong rower, though, and it had taken quite some time to catch up, the frog riding on the turtle’s back as they reached the side of the boat and the worried little amphibian had hissed a quiet, “Pssst!!”

Brimming with relief, Bert snatched it up, his face crimson and a silently mouthed, “oh thank you!”

Mary turned her eyes to the deep oranges and pinks that colored the sky, and looking the other way, she could see the moon poking through the clouds, against a purple, navy background. Were that life were a chalk painting… She turned back to Bert, her eyes going a little sad. She gave a stiff smile. “We both know that isn’t true, Bert.”

“I can make it true.” He drew in a deep breath, and carefully shifted on the boat to get on one knee and offered out his hand. carefully clutched in his fingers- only here, in paintings, were they free of dark stains under the nails - he held up a silver ring with a twisted band and a small blue gem the same color as her eyes. “I’d do anyfing for you, Miss Poppins. We can take your last name, it really don’t matter to me, I’d be a good Mr. Poppins, I think- Herbert Alfred Poppins, see? It works!”

Her eyebrow twitched in confusion, almost unnoticably. Her smile faded when he got to one knee, and her stomach dropped when he presented her with a ring. His words almost faded into the background. She was too busy staring at the perfection and simplicity of the symbol he was offering her.

Memories came flooding back to her, images from her many years. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, though she couldn’t recall feeling happier about it any of the other times. In her first few hundred years, she had let herself follow her heart to disaster over and over again.

The first was a man in a little village she visited from a cottage in the woods. He was the blacksmith’s son, and he loved to bring her flowers and lemon cakes (her favorite at the time), and they would spend their evenings by the riverside. It was so long ago, and she had been so set on forgetting about it, that she could no longer remember his name; just the feel of his lips on her forehead. Features, and traits of some of the following blended together in her mind. She couldn’t separate them out, even though she had tried before. A noble, a farmer, red hair, hair peppered with grey, features like a painting, starry skies, and flowers... The last, she still remembered vividly. He was a traditional romantic, in every sense. She was a nursemaid to a prestigious family there, and he would come to recite verses, and serenade her at her balcony at night.

Like the others, he had passed before she even aged a day. He was the last. She had grown tired. Philosophers and romantics alike loved to say that it was better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all, but all she did was lose, again, and again. After that, she distanced herself on purpose. She never stayed anywhere for long.

It had been four centuries since him, when she met a little boy who had tried to steal her coin purse. Now here she was, sitting across from a hopeful man, who she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with. And she couldn’t.

It had been almost an equally long time since Mary Poppins had cried, and she had forgotten how much it hurt to breath as her chest heaved with sobs. Without a word, she fell forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso, crying against his chest. Even in his fine clothes he smelled like a wood burning fire.

He nearly dropped the ring again at the sudden embrace, his breath caught in his throat, “Golly!” He swallowed, stupefied expression evolving into one of determination, “If there’s one thing you taught me, Miss Poppins… it’s that anything is possible. I’ll find a way and then you MUST marry me.”

She shook her head weakly against his chest, tears still flowing freely. Between sobs, she choked out some words. “Bert, I’ve been trying to fix myself for hundreds of years.” She pulled away, and realized she didn’t have her handkerchief with her. Her coat had gone when they entered the painting. She settled to wipe her eyes with her hands. “It’s not easy to come by.”

He pulled his own handkerchief from his breast pocket- the one she had given him with the MP embroidered on the corner. In the painting, it was a pristine white once more. He also offered her the ring again, “And this aint no chalk, my love, so take it as my promise, then. It cost years of savings.” He tried to fix her tears with a bright smile.

Mary took the handkerchief gratefully, and was hit by a new wave of sobs upon seeing which it was. It was like centuries of sadness about this problem were finally pouring out. Another sob, and she reached for the ring, carefully placing it on the appropriate finger. She took a moment to admire it through water-filled eyes. She huffed, and attempted a smile. “Hold me?” Her voice wavered.

Now Mary Poppins was not one to show such emotions, and it was all Bert could do to hang on to the ride down the waterfall. He understood she was far, far older than she looked, and that she would never die, and if things proceeded as normal, he would, but he had also done an immense number of impossible things even in his short mortal life thus far. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what could cause such tears- but he did know what might stop them. The boat drifting in soft circles, he slipped an arm around her, holding her close, “Look at th’colors on that sunset! Jes’ like I remember,” His smile remained, shifting to sit with her and gently move to kiss her cheek.

She might not have said it, but he knew that she loved him. She loved him and he could do anything he put his mind to.


End file.
